


In the Absence

by Lyledebeast



Series: Another Side [2]
Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexuality, Domestic Fluff, Estrangement, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Infidelity, Introspection, Multi, Polyamory, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Unplanned Pregnancy, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-05-26 18:22:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 53
Words: 158,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6250486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyledebeast/pseuds/Lyledebeast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Marian had gone through with the marriage to Guy at the end of season one, but it was never consummated and she continued to spy for Robin? Eventually, Guy learned of this, and they become estranged. A year later, Robin hears of a plot to murder King Richard in the Holy Land, but it is not Sheriff Vaisey and Guy who are carrying it out.  Robin departs with his gang, leaving Marian behind.  Within a few weeks, she discovers that she is carrying Robin's child, and appeals to her husband for help, but Guy is now sleeping with Allan a Dale.  Will Guy help Marian save her reputation and keep her free from the Sheriff's suspicion? Will Marian be able to learn to trust him? What affect will this have on their relationships with Allan and Robin?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Funeral

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of my Lathered series, which follows the establishment of of Guy and Allan's relationship after the latter is thrown out of the gang for spying and goes to live at the castle.
> 
> It is also a sequel to my fic Another Side, which begins after Guy and Marian's estrangement and her confession to him that she is still in love with Robin Hood. It shows the beginnings of a shift in their relationship. It might be helpful to read these first, but it is not necessary.
> 
> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine. All characters are the property of Tiger Aspect Productions and the BBC.
> 
> Many thanks to Xandri and Thymelady, without whose encouragement, brainstorming help, and feedback I would never have started this.

Guy and Allan arrived late to Sir Edward’s funeral. Given the long estrangement between him and Marian, attending had been an agonizing decision on Guy’s part.  She was still his wife, so by rights he should be there, mourning her father by her side and helping her greet his many friends, supporting her while she coped with what must surely be a devastating loss. On the other hand, he had not spoken to her since the awkward three nights they had been forced to spend together at the castle for the Sheriff’s birthday celebration. He didn’t know if his presence would be welcome, and didn’t want to add to her misery if it wasn’t.

Allan had been absolutely no help at all. However many arguments Guy presented him with, his answer was always, “whatever you think best, Giz.” He couldn’t really blame him.  Allan had been too young when he lost his mother to remember what her funeral was like, and he hadn’t found out about his father’s death until after it was too late to attend.  Of course, his brother had been denied any funeral as an executed criminal; he had not even been buried in consecrated ground. So it was unsurprising that Allan considered funerals to be overrated an unnecessary.  Sir Edward was dead, and neither Guy’s going nor staying away would change that.

What had finally made the decision for him had been the Sheriff’s flippancy about it.  He had been positively chipper that morning. “So, Gizzy, making plans to celebrate your father-in-law’s interment? Or are you going to use the time to take possession of Knighton Hall while the leper is out?  That’s what you should do; I’ll even give you the afternoon off. Don’t want to lose any of those precious family heirlooms to the servants, do you?”

Guy had cringed inwardly. The Sheriff’s indelicacy hardly surprised him, but the suggestion that Knighton Hall was his for the taking, or that he would want it, did.  He already had one house full of servants who despised him, and he never went there anymore; what would he do with two? Additionally, the idea that Marian could be robbed while she was away at the funeral filled him with anxiety, so much so that he took the Sheriff up on his offer. He gave his men instructions to stand by for further orders, in the case that the hall needed protection, and set off with Allan.

They had gone to Knighton to make sure it was safe, only to find that the door was locked and all the servants appeared to be gone.  Upon their arrival at the funeral, they saw why.  Marian had clearly given them time off to attend, because she was surrounded by servants in positions of honor that would normally belong to family.  “Only Marian,” Guy thought with a mixture of indignation and an odd fondness.  One of the first things that had drawn him to her had been how different she was from what he expected from girls of her station, yet he had never really understood her affection for those who served her.

The burial had drawn quite a crowd in spite of the fact that most of the local gentry had stayed behind for fear of incurring the Sheriff’s disapproval.  Many of the local tradesmen who had children old enough to manage their businesses for a couple of hours were there, and even a few peasants.  Guy even thought he recognized a couple of his own tenants.  It was very clear where Marian had gotten her generous nature.

His appreciation for their devotion was short lived.  As soon as his presence became known, most of the attendees looked at him with a mixture of fear and outrage, as though he had come to steal the corpse rather than to pay his respects. He made a conscious effort to scowl at them in his usual imperious way, and it seemed to have the desired effect.  The crowd surrounding Marian parted to make way for him and Allan, and when she saw them coming her eyes opened wide in surprise.  “At least she’s not annoyed,” Guy thought to himself with relief.  She looked as uncertain as he felt, but began to walk slowly towards him.

“Guy, Allan. It was good of you to come,” she said politely, stopping in front of them. 

He felt as though his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth.  It was perhaps the first time she had ever described anything he had done as “good,” and he struggled to react. 

“I . . . I was sorry to hear about your father, Marian,” he said, barely above a mumble.  He was surprised to find himself bit unnerved by all the hostility surrounding him.

She averted her eyes as she thanked him, and he noticed the dark circles underneath them for the first time, as well as her wan complexion.  He had seen Marian exhausted before, and annoyed, and sometimes even enraged, but he had never seen her look so disconsolate.  A part of him wanted to reach for her and pull her against his chest, holding her and telling her he would make everything alright.  At this time a year ago, a few months after their wedding, he probably would have done just that, but he knew now how much she would hate it.  There was absolutely nothing that she wanted from him now, he was sure.  At least, nothing that she wanted for herself.

Fortunately, Allan chose that moment to dispel the awkward silence by stepping forward to do just what Guy was afraid to do.

“I’m sorry too, Marian.  Sir Edward was a good man.  I’ll miss him.  Everyone will.”

When he pulled back from the hug, she gave him a little smile and took hold of his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Thank you, Allan.  He would be glad you were here.  Robin would have come, but he was afraid it would draw the Sheriff’s attention.”

Then she glanced at Guy.  He felt blood rush into his face, his skin tingling with indignation.  Did she still see him only as the Sheriff’s man even now, with all the risks he had taken for her? Actually, it was worse than that.  He had been risking not only his position but his life in sharing the Sheriff’s secrets with Robin, and Allan’s as well since he served as the messenger between them.

His anger must have been obvious, because Marian narrowed her eyes at him and pressed her lips into a firm, thin line. She looked around as though curious about who was watching them.  Then she stepped forward, reaching up to put her hand on the back of Guy’s neck and pull him down into a hug as well.

He gasped and froze, too shocked to either pull away or return her embrace.  His heart was pounding in his ears, pounding so hard he was certain she could feel it too. For a moment, he felt exactly as he had those months ago at the castle, as though nothing mattered in that moment except that she was touching him of her own free will, and seeming to enjoy it.

“Guy, I think you have to hug me back.  People are staring,” she hissed into his ear, snapping him out of his reverie.  “Of course,” he thought bitterly.  She was only doing this for the benefit of the bystanders. She couldn’t be seen to embrace her husband’s second in command, but not her husband himself.

He draped his arms around her lamely for a moment, and she deemed that sufficient to let him go.  He was so relieved that he took a full step back, his eyes scanning the cemetery.  Whoever had been staring at them had clearly been satisfied with this display, because the only person who still had his eyes on them was Allan. He gave Guy a searching look that made the heat flare up in his cheeks for an entirely different reason; could Allan see what he was thinking? He felt an urgent desire to get away. They had ascertained that Marian was as well as could be expected under the circumstances; surely there was no reason to remain.

He looked somewhere over her shoulder and spoke rapidly. “Well, Marian.  I think we’ll be on our way.  Please do let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”

Instead of the equally standard, obligatory reply he expected, she gave him a thoughtful look and stood in silence for a moment, as though trying to make up her mind about something.  Finally, she said, “There is a favor I wanted to ask of you, Guy.  In fact, I was going to come and find you at the castle once everyone had gone home.”

Guy felt anxiety settle in the pit of his stomach; the last time she had asked something of him, he had ended up tied to his own headboard at the castle, and that had not ended well.  He doubted this request would be anything like that, but she had given him little reason to trust her.

“Yes?”

“I was wondering . . .” she began falteringly, “if it would be possible . . . if it wouldn’t be too inconvenient . . . if I were to move back to Locksley?”

He raised his eyebrows. Of all the things he thought she might ask, this was one he hadn’t expected.  Her request filled him with a new kind of warmth he couldn’t quite account for.

She must have mistaken his silence for misunderstanding, because she continued to plead her case. “I know you hardly ever go there.  I know,” she went on in a hushed tone, “that Robin is meeting Allan there again, which he would hardly do if he thought there was any chance of you being there.”

“But why wouldn’t you want to remain at Knighton?” Guy asked with surprise.  He had been forced to cope with the loss of his parents and his home on the same day, and he couldn’t imagine why anyone would willfully give up all that was loved and familiar at once.

She looked away from him for a moment, and when she spoke again her voice was quavering on the verge of tears. “Because I can’t stand being there.  Every five minutes I expect to look up and see my father, or hear him call for me . . . He was so ill for the past few weeks that I barely left the house, and now that he’s gone there is nothing . . . nothing for me to do.  And everything I see reminds me of him.” Tears formed at the corners of her eyes, and she turned away hastily to dab at them with the handkerchief she held in her hand.

Guy gaped at her, dumbfounded; he had never expected to see her cry in front of him over something that was not his fault.  He hadn’t considered how difficult it must have been to watch her remaining parent waste away before her eyes.  He had seen so little of his own father’s illness before he and his mother had been taken from him in the blink of an eye.  He surprised himself as much as Marian when he reached out and placed a gloved hand lightly on her shoulder. He felt a jolt of energy run the length of his arm even at that simple touch, and quickly pulled his hand away.

“Of course you must come to Locksley,” he said in what he hoped was a soothing voice. “You’re right, I never go there except on estate business, which I can easily handle without having to enter the house.”

He turned to Allan.  “Let’s go there now and notify the staff.  I just have a few things to collect.” Looking back at Marian, he said, “You can move in as early as tonight if it suits you.  I can send some of my men to help if there is any furniture you want to bring.”

She stared at him in suspicious awe. She clearly hadn’t expected it to be so easy, but as the realization dawned on her, she gave him a tiny smile and shook her head. “No, I’ll just bring some trunks with me, and my own staff at Knighton can help with that.  But thank you, Guy, for your kindness.”

She moved towards him as if she meant to touch him again, but he stepped away to avoid it, standing closer than necessary to Allan to say hastily, “Better be off now.  The Sheriff only gave us the afternoon, not the full day.”

“Right,” Allan replied, leaning in to give Marian another hug and repeat Guy’s offer to help her with anything she might need.  It only took a couple of seconds, but to Guy it seems like ages.  He walked back to the horses so fast that Allan almost had to break into a run to keep up with him.  Marian was certainly as baffling to him as ever.  Within the space of a few minutes, she had gone from suspecting him of ill intent to hugging him and calling him kind.  It was enough to drive a man mad. Yes, he would be very glad to go back to avoiding her.


	2. The Letter

Allan had found it a bit surreal at first, carrying messages to Robin from Guy. It was a dramatic change from the constant anxiety about Guy discovering that he was still helping Robin to which he had grown accustomed.  He had known from the beginning that all contact between the two enemies would have to go through him.  A meeting between them was as likely to end in bloodshed as it had ever been, even though they were technically working together now.  However, when the topic of another attempt on King Richard’s life had come up in the correspondence between Vaisey and his fellow black knights, Robin had been almost willing to overlook the animosity between them in his eagerness to know the latest development.  Until the letter from Winchester naming his date of departure, that is.

“Are you certain the letter said August the 4th; did you see it?” Robin inquired anxiously.  They were in the clearing around the campfire; Robin had insisted that Allan not delay in bringing him this particular bit of news, so he had not waited for their usual meeting at Locksley.

“No I didn’t see it, but the Sheriff summoned Guy as soon as it was delivered, and that’s he told me afterwards.”

Robin’s face fell. “So, we only have Gisborne’s word to go on?” He gave a dismissive snort and shook his head.

“Well, he hasn’t mislead us on anything else,” Allan reminded him.

“Yeah, but nothing else has been as important as this.” Robin took his chin in his hand and sat in silence for a moment, thinking.

“If he wanted to get us out of the way, to send us off to the Holy Land while he committed some further outrage here, this would be just the way to do it.”

“You mean . . . the Sheriff? You think he told Guy the wrong date?” Allan asked with some confusion.

“No,” Robin replied, continuing to look thoughtfully into the fire, “I don’t think it’s Gisborne who’s being mislead.”

Realization dawning on him, Allan sighed with aggravation.  Though keeping Robin and Guy apart was no doubt the best idea, it did make it easier for Robin to dismiss the help the black night gave them, continuing to see him as the embodiment of all that had gone wrong in Nottinghamshire while he had been away on crusade.

“Well, I trust him.  I think he’s telling us the truth.  And I think if Marian were here, she’d tell you the same thing.”

“Probably she would.  But you and Marian can both be wrong.  You forget how manipulative he is, how he lied about trying to kill the king and forced Marian to marry him.”

“I remember how you encouraged her to go through with it so you could have more access to the Sheriff’s plans too” Allan thought bitterly, but he kept it to himself.

“Look Robin, he admitted that he tried to kill the king, just as you demanded.  He’s done everything you asked of him.  What would it take for you to believe him?”

Robin tapped his finger against his lips for a moment before finally looking up at Allan.

“I’d like to see the letter for myself.  As intimate as Gisborne is with the Sheriff, it should be easy enough for him to steal it.”

* * *

“You tell Hood he can go fuck himself,” Guy hissed through his teeth, “I’m not about to risk my life to prove my loyalty to him. What do I care if Winchester’s plan is a success?” He flopped down on the bed and scowled at the ceiling.

Allan reached up to rub at his tired eyes as he lay down next to him.  The ride into Sherwood so late after a full day of supervising tax collection had exhausted him, and he was in no mood to have to reason with another stubborn man.

“Listen, Guy.  I’m hardly going to go all the way back out there to tell him to fuck himself.  I told him he should trust you, but if he has to see the letter before he’ll act, what can I do about it?”

Guy crossed his arms and scoffed petulantly, but made no reply.

“Look, I can’t go back to Robin empty-handed.”

Guy sighed with frustration, but when he spoke it was in a softer tone.  “I know.  But he has no right to ask that of me.  I promised to give him information, not to die for his bloody cause.”

“Would the Sheriff really go that far?” Allan asked, squinting skeptically.

“You can bet your life on it. He might trust me with the contents of his letters, but if I tried to take one for myself? He’d kill me without a second thought.”

Guy pondered that for a minute, then twitched the corners of his mouth into a grim smirk.  “Of course, Hood probably knows that.  He’ll either get the information he wants in a manner of his choosing, or I’ll be dead; he wins either way.”

“Or maybe we can get the letter without getting caught, and then we can all have what we want,” Allan answered in as calm a voice as he could manage, his patience fraying.

Guy’s head snapped towards him.  “What do you mean ‘we.’”

“Well, not to boast, Giz, but I was an excellent pickpocket in my day.  It ought to be easy enough for me to nick it from him.  Certainly easier than trying to convince Robin to act without it.”

Guy’s forehead creased with concern and Allan felt a warm affection begin to dispel his exasperation with his lover.  He didn’t want to put himself at risk, but he didn’t want him to either.

“I know you were, Allan, but the letter won’t be in his pocket.  It will be in his bedroom.”

“Where in his bedroom?”

Guy shook his head and looked away to blow out the candle.  He remained with his back to Allan for so long that he concluded that this was the end of the conversation.  He was just about to roll over and go to sleep when he heard Guy say, barely audibly, “He keeps his correspondence on the bedside table.  Tomorrow morning, I’ll distract him while you get the letter.”

* * *

It had been surprisingly easy when it came to it. When they had gone to the Sheriff to receive their instructions for the day, Guy caught a glimpse of a man he said might be the one who had delivered Winchester’s letter the day before.  Normally, Vaisey would not have been so easy to fool, but Allan could tell from his bloodshot eyes and even more acute irritability that the plans to kill the king—more specifically, his own exclusion from the action—had taken its toll on the Sheriff.  Rather than insisting that Guy get the man and bring him to his quarters as he usually would, he took off in the direction Guy pointed as fast as his short legs would take him, shouting all the way. Guy had given a nod to Allan and followed.  All he had to do was slip into the bedroom, locate the letter on the nightstand, and stuff it down the front of his jacket.

When the poor, frightened man Guy had randomly pointed at turned out to be one of Vaisey’s own spies, he spent at least ten minutes berating his Master at Arms for his stupidity and blindness, pointing at various objects around the courtyard and in the sky to see if he could identify them.  When Allan arrived, Vaisey pointed at him and screeched, “Do you recognize him? Can you even see where you’re putting your cock every night?” Allan tried to give Guy a sympathetic look when he glanced at him, but Guy quickly hung his head again in nervous abjection. 

Allan felt his hands tighten into fists by his sides.  The Sheriff had always been crueler to Guy than to himself, and he had thought it was just because he expected more of him as he had known him longer.  But over the past weeks, he realized it went deeper than that.  The Sheriff had wanted to head the assassination attempt; such a role suited his ambitions far better than being relegated to supporting Winchester.  However, the black knights had decided against him, and Vaisey was certain it was because of Guy’s failure to kill the king two years ago. Hence, he took the brunt of his frustrations.

Guy normally took the Sheriff’s insults in stride have been so long used to them, but the morning’s diatribe left him shaken for the rest of the day.  When they finally got to be alone together that night, Allan tried to give him a hug, but Guy held him off with a hand on his shoulder.

“Where is the letter?” he whispered, as though his guards could hear through the thick oaken door.

Allan unbuttoned his jacket enough to pull it out and hand it to him.  Once Guy had opened and examined it, he pulled Allan against him with a sigh of relief.  The embrace was brief, though.

When Guy sat back, he was frowning again.  Allan wanted to stay with him, but he knew he could not get the letter to Robin too quickly.  Guy seemed to see that as well, because he immediately gave it back to him.  “There, take that to the king of the Sherwood.  And tell him where he can stuff it!”


	3. Departure

Marian had found acclimatizing to Locksley much easier the second time.  The servants, who had treated her with such courtesy when she was living with Guy there, were delighted to see her again, and she them.  Since Thornton’s retirement, there had not been a steward at Locksley. Guy had deemed a cook, a laundry maid, a stable hand, and a handful of others sufficient to his needs.  Some of his servants had moved on or taken other work due to his long absences. On her first night, the head cook, Edith, had prepared what she remembered as her favorite dish.  Her daughter, Ruth, whom she was training as her assistant, had helped, fidgeting with anxious excitement at the prospect of preparing a meal for “a real lady.” Marian remembered her as a timid mouse of a girl who rarely came to the house, and barely spoke when she did.  In retrospect, though, she realized that she mostly saw her when extra help was needed when Guy was entertaining.  Indeed, she noticed that all the servants were more relaxed, and seemed to take more pleasure in their work, now that she alone was living there.

She too felt more relaxed at Locksley; it was just the uplifting change of scenery she had hoped it would be.  She still missed her father terribly, but it was a relief not to be constantly confronted with his absence where her heart told her he should be. Now, she could take some comfort in the fact that he was no longer suffering, and was reunited with her long-lost mother in heaven. Within a few days, she had begun to remember the Locksley of old, before Robin had left.  She had thought it certain then that the two of them would make a happy life together there.  Since then, she had often reproached herself for being so naïve, but now it began to seem like a possibility again.

The reason for that, and the best thing of all about living at Locksley without Guy, was that she was seeing much more of Robin.  He visited whenever he got the chance, and even spent the night on several occasions, sneaking out at dawn before the servants arrived.  As careful as they were, she thought that Edith suspected something from the sly, conspiratorial looks she gave her the following day. She supposed she must seem less weary and grief-stricken when she had been with him; she certainly felt livelier.

Apart from the need for secrecy, it was almost as though they were married.  She had even taken to discussing such concerns as refurnishing the manor, brightening it up and getting rid of the dark, almost acetic contributions Guy had made.  Sometimes, those things did reminded her of her miserable marriage, but Guy had brought so little to Locksley when he moved in that it would take very little effort to rid it of any memory of him.  With enough time, it might indeed feel as though Robin had never left.

That was just the blissful daydream she was having as she and Robin were sitting at the dinner table and Allan a Dale arrived with Winchester’s letter.

“Does it say August 4th?” he inquired smugly.

Robin glared at the document as though expecting the date to change before his very eyes, scrutinizing each detail.

“The fourth? That’s only two days from now, Robin,” Marian pointed out.  “What will you do?”

He set the letter down with determination.  “There’s no time to be spared. We have to leave immediately.”

“Uh, we?” Allan asked hastily, his eyes narrowed with skepticism.

“Not you, Allan,” Robin reassured him, and Allan heaved a sigh of relief and pulled out a chair from the table, sitting down heavily.

“I need you to keep an eye on things here.  Try to help the villagers as much as you can while I’m gone. Without me and the gang, they’ll need someone to protect them.”

Marian noticed that he was avoiding her gaze. She knew it would be a fight to get Robin to take her with him, but as he said, there was no time to delay.

“I won’t be here to protect them either, Robin,” she said as calmly as she could.

Robin took a deep breath, steeling himself.

“Yes, you will, my love.”

As she opened her mouth to protest, he placed his hand over hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.  “I know you want to come, but I also know how hard this trip is.  I’ve made it before, and I can’t put you through that ordeal.  It’s too risky.”

“Well, it’s no riskier for me than it is for you. And you’re willing to risk the gang.”

Robin sighed with frustration and drew his hand away to rub it over his face.

“I would do this alone if I could, but I can’t.  Listen, Marian. I need you here.  You can help Allan.  It will be safer.”

Allan scoffed from the other side of the table. “I’m not bein’ funny, Robin, but if you think working for the Sheriff and helping the villagers at the same time is safe, you need to try out for yourself. I could be killed just trying to put that letter back where I found it!”

“Allan, you’re not being helpful,” Robin snapped, without taking his eyes off Marian.

Allan smiled at them in silence for a minute.  “Are you sure you can stand to leave her? It takes near a month just to get there.  I feel for the others.  They’d probably rather you bring Marian.”

Robin turned to look at him with what Marian though must be a frightening expression, for Allan’s grin was immediately replaced by a worried frown.  “I’m just sayin,’” he went on feebly.

Robin made no reply, but reprieved him by looking away.

“Well, I’ll take that as hint to be on my way,” Allan continued.  He stood uncertainly for a moment before Robin got to his feet and pulled him into a hug.  He whispered something into his ear that Marian could not hear, but that made him nod and grip Robin’s shoulder reassuringly.  Then he bent down to hug Marian as well, picked up the letter, and turned to leave.

“Well, whatever the two of you decide to do, the best of luck.  I hope to see you both soon.”

“I hope so too, Allan,” Robin replied with a tired smile.

Marian remained silent, relieved when Allan simply gave her a nod and left.

Once they were alone, she took Robin’s hand in hers again.

“My love, listen to me. I could bear being parted from you when you left for the first time because I believed in what you were fighting for and I was . . . naïve about all that it entailed. But now I understand the dangers better than I did before.  That long journey over land and sea, the sheer number of people there who will want to kill you even before Winchester’s men arrive.”

“Yes, but Marian . . .” he began.

“No, Robin.  Let me finish. I understand the risk I would be taking in going with you, but . . . I don’t think I can bear to stay here without you. There wouldn’t be a moment you were away that I would be worrying about you . . . and . . .”

“And what, my love?” he asked

She took a moment to compose herself.  The idea of being left had opened the fresh wounds of her grief, and she felt panic rising within her.

“I’ve just lost my father, Robin.  You and he mean more to me than anyone else in the world. If I lost both of you . . . There are other dangers besides death.  I believe I would go mad.  I would sooner risk my life to see you safe than be safe here on my own.”

Robin covered their joined hands with his other one and moved his face closer to hers.  “I understand that.  But I wouldn’t risk your life for anything.  You’re far too precious to me.  I only need to warn the king, and convince him that he’s needed here. I’ll be back before you know it.”

At that last sentence, Marian felt her worry give way to anger.  She pulled her hand out of Robin’s grasp.

“Back before you know it, you say?” she asked with a mocking smiled.

“Well . . . it won’t take as long as you might think,” he replied, cautiously.

She straightened her back and gave him a long stare. “That is exactly what you said to me before you left for the Holy Land the first time.  ‘We’ll recover what we’ve lost and I’ll be back and we’ll be married before you know it,’ you said.” She was aware that she was raising her voice, but she no longer cared.  “Five years you were gone, Robin.  Five!”

“Yes,” he said calmly, trying to pacify her, “and I came back, and here we are together, in my house, just as I said.”

“Except that hell had come to Nottinghamshire while you were gone!” she hissed. “And now you have to go back because we still haven’t recovered the Holy Land!” When his eyes widened with shock, she felt guilt twist within her.  She had reason to be angry, yes, but she knew upsetting him would not help her cause.

“Listen, Robin.  I know you want to keep me safe.  But I love you, and I won’t be separated from you just for my safety, and that’s the end of it. Let’s have no more discussion of it tonight.”

He breathed a deep sign and reached up to rub at his eyes with both hands.  “Well, that we agree on at least.” He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her, bringing her into a tight embrace. When he released her, he pressed a soft kiss to her lips that was more lingering than she expected.  She felt a momentary worry, but it quickly gave in to an sense of comfort. If he was no longer arguing, surely that meant he had reconsidered.  Even when the kiss ended, he continued to hold her for a couple of seconds longer, as though loathe to let her go.  He pressed one more kiss to her forehead before stepping back.  “Rest well, my love; we’ll have a difficult day tomorrow. I have to go and prepare the gang.”

“When will you come for me, Robin?” she asked pleadingly.

He sighed and lifted a hand to her face, rubbing his thumb against her cheek.

“You’ll hear from me first thing in the morning.”

He gave her one last kiss, and was gone.

* * *

Marian did not go right to sleep that night.  She began packing up one of her trunks, but quickly gave up in frustration.  What did ladies wear to go and rescue rulers? She expected that Djaq, like the other outlaws, would simply go in the clothes she was wearing and obtain others as the need arose.  Of course Djaq, even if the trip from the Holy Land to England had been the first of her life, was a far more experienced traveler than herself. Finally, she simply set out what she considered her most durable outfit, and went to bed.  Even then, she was far too restless to sleep well.

The next morning, the sun was already high and bright when she awoke, and she cursed herself inwardly for oversleeping.  She was in such a panic that it took her twice as long as usual to get dressed, but when she arrived downstairs she saw only Edith, preparing her breakfast in the kitchen. And then she saw the letter on the table. 

Following her gaze as she entered the room, Edith said, “The master was just leaving when I got here.  That was four hours ago. He left that for you.”

Marian opened the letter with trembling hands, knowing already what it was likely to say,

_My dearest love,_

_I know that you will be angry with me when you read this, but please understand.  I had to leave you behind in order to do what needs to be done to save the king.  I would fear too much for your safety were I to put you at as much risk as myself.  I hope you will be able to forgive me._

_Love Always,_

_Robin_

Marian’s first impulse was to rush for her horse and set off for the nearest port, hoping to catch Robin and the rest before they left.  She was already in the stable when she realized the futility of that plan.  It had been years since she had travelled by boat, and while she knew which direction to ride in, she was certain they would have found a boat and left by the time she arrived.  Even if she were lucky enough to catch them, if what she had told Robin last night had not convinced him to take her, nothing she could say now would.  The realization hit her like a hammer’s blow, and she suddenly felt light-headed.  Not knowing what else to do, she entered her mare’s stall, steadying her with her voice.  Then she pressed her face against the horse’s neck and cried.


	4. The Night Watchman

For the first two days after Robin’s departure, Marian found herself struggling just to get out of bed.  When she had returned from the stables, she went straight upstairs without a word to Edith.  The older woman seemed to understand, for she made no inquiries until that evening when she sent Ruth up to ask if she was hungry.  She was not, but she had the presence of mind to insist that the food be taken to Nottingham and given to the poor so it would not go to waste. This happened again the next day, and the next, as she had only enough appetite for bread. Marian tried to tell herself that she was at least making some gesture towards Robin’s request, but it felt hollow.  Although she was scandalized by the idea at first, Edith eventually agreed to simply make a little extra of the everyday fare she prepared for her own family to save herself the extra labor.  Whether the food lacked in variety or seasoning was lost on Marian; she could hardly taste it anyway. 

This sorrow was of an entirely different kind than what had come from losing her father.  In that case, though his absence was painful to her, there was no one to blame.  He had been sick for such a long time, and he was old.  She knew that she had done everything she could to make him comfortable, and he had passed away with her sitting by his side, holding his hand in hers. With Robin’s departure, though, came a deep and oppressive anger on top of the grief. She was angry with herself for letting her temper get the better of her, though she knew that if she had been more subdued and logical, it would probably not have made a difference. She was angry with Robin too.  Though he had never explicitly said that would take her with him, he had led her to believe that he understood why she wanted to go so badly.  Yet he made no mention of that in his letter; he only accused her of being a distraction.  As though she had nothing to offer in terms of aiding him!  She had believed he saw her as a partner; now she was not so sure. Most frustratingly of all, she was angry with herself for her anger at him.  Surely he was only trying to protect her.  She had been right about one thing, she felt: she was going mad.

On the fourth day, Edith knocked at her door to let her know that Allan a Dale had come to see her. She looked into her mirror briefly, noticing that her hair was disheveled and her skin even paler than usual.  She knew there was not much she could do about her skin, and if Allan knew that she was still here, he ought to know not to expect much. But she did try to smooth her hair back into place, finally deciding to simply pull it straight back.

When she arrived downstairs, she could see from Allan’s expression that her efforts had been futile. He stared at her, his lips drawn tight and his eyebrows knitted with concern.

“God, Marian, you look terrible.  Have you not slept since Robin left?”

She shrugged, too weary to be offended. “Not much,” she replied, “but I have so little to do that I don’t really needs sleep.” She felt a little taken aback by her own bitter tone. Though she knew it didn’t sound like it, she was glad to have him there. It was a relief to know that not everyone had abandoned her. “Won’t you come and sit?” she asked more cordially, indicating the chairs by the fireplace.

As soon as she was certain they were alone, Marian asked, “Did you know he was going to leave without me?” If he wasn’t going to mince words, she would follow his example.

“Well . . . you were there the last time I saw him.  You know what we said to each other.”

She narrowed her eyes at him critically. “Not all of it.  What did he whisper in your ear?”

Allan sighed with resignation.  He looked down at his hands in his lap for a moment, as though weighing two courses of action, before he met her gaze. “He told me to watch out for you. To make sure you had everything you needed.”

“So he had decided before I said one word,” Marian thought to herself, but what she said aloud was, “Thank you, Allan.”

He gave her a look of genuine confusion. “For what?”

“For not lying to me.  For not defending Robin.”

Allan hesitated for a moment, chewing absent-mindedly on his lower lip.

“Actually . . . you know he was only thinking of your safety, right?”

She couldn’t help rolling her eyes.  “Yes, yes.  He mentioned that after you left.  And right before he left.  And again in the letter he left me.”

She looked back at Allan and he could only shrug.  “I must be the truth, then,” he offered lamely. “Look, Marian.  I meant it when I said he should take you.  You would’ve been away from here, and the . . . bad memories.  And he would’ve had an extra pair of eyes watching out for him.”

Marian suddenly felt more pleased than she had been since Robin left.  She hadn’t expected Allan to agree with her so enthusiastically.

“Exactly! And I would’ve been useful.  Now, with my father and Robin gone I have no one.  The only position I have that carries any authority is Lady Gisborne,” she said, spitting out the last words with contempt.

She regretted her words immediately when Allan raised his eyebrows and gave her a tight smile.

“Well I’d be glad to take that title on myself if you don’t want it, but I don’t think the Church would like it too much.”

Marian was mortified.  She hadn’t meant to insult Allan.  It wasn’t that she disapproved of his relationship with Guy exactly; it was unthinkable that the cooperation between Robin and his enemy could have come about without it.  But the idea of two men being together in the same way as a man and a woman was often nearly incomprehensible to her.  Indeed, it was easier for her to forget about it.

“Allan, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean . . .” she pleaded.

He silenced her with a warmer smile and a wave of his hand.  “It’s alright, Marian.  I can hardly believe it myself most of the time.” He paused thoughtfully for a moment. “And it’s not true, you know.”

Now it was her turn to look confused. “What’s not true?”

“That ‘Lady Gisborne’ is the only title you have left.  You have another one, but no one has used it much since Robin’s return.”

Marian made no reply, but as he spoke she almost gasped at the realization of what his words meant.

“The Night Watchman, of course!” he said in a lower voice.  “Your father didn’t like you doing that, Robin didn’t like it, and Guy . . . well, Guy would’ve killed you for it if you weren’t too quick for him.”

“I wasn’t always too quick,” she reminded him, thinking of the ugly scar on her side that pained her so on rainy days.

Understanding dawned on Allan, and the smile slipped from his face, but he went on. “Yeah, but apart from that, you were a great fighter, and you were doing  a lot of good for the people around here before the idea even occurred to Robin. Now there’s no one to stand in your way.  Sir Edward is gone . . . rest his soul.  Robin is gone and who knows when he’ll be back.  Guy is . . . well, Guy is . . .”

Marian gave a grim smile at that.  Even though Guy was technically on their side now, old habits were hard to break.  She was sure he would still be a danger to the Night Watchman were he to reappear.

“Leave Guy to me,” he finally concluded.  “I’ll shove my hand down his pants if that’s what it takes to distract him,” he said with a saucy wink.

Marian’s eyes widened in shock, and Allan frowned slightly, as though worried that he had gone too far. She certainly hadn’t expected him to say that, but at the thought of the look that would bring to Guy’s face she snorted with laughter. She was feeling almost like her old self.  For the rest of the evening, she and Allan recounted past deeds and adventures, and that night she enjoyed her first peaceful sleep since Robin had left.

* * *

The next morning, she had her mare readied and went for a long ride.  She visited Knighton, much to the joy of her servants, and asked about how they had faired in her absence and what help might be needed.  Then she travelled to the surrounding villages, inquiring after the health of various invalids and orphans she knew.  By the time she arrived back at Locksley, she was exhausted, but proud.  She hadn’t felt so productive since long before Robin’s departure, even before her marriage. Having made a list of people in need, she asked Edith to set aside time to bake extra bread, saying she had discovered some families in need in Clun.  It wasn’t untrue; she did find a family there, among other places.  That night, she began making plans to sew a new costume for herself. She found some clothes that could be easily converted into the functional, form-fitting outfit she would need, and compiled a list of supplies she did not have at the ready.

In spite of sleeping well again, she awoke the next morning feeling more tired than usual.  It struck her as odd, but she attributed it to all the riding she had done on the previous day. She asked Edith to prepare a more substantial dinner for her.  Though she did not give her the reason, she knew she would need it to keep up her strength for the week’s activities.  Then she travelled to Nottingham to get her supplies. By the time she arrived back at Locksley, she was feeling triumphant already, and ate with a better appetite than she could remember.  The next morning, however, she came to regret it.  Having felt a bit nauseous all night, when she awoke the next morning she was immediately dizzy and vomited on the floor.  She cleaned up as best she could, wincing at the thought of what the laundry maid would find.  While she simply blamed her illness on nerves and continued with her plans, the incident dampened her enthusiasm for the rest of the day.

That night, however, she felt a new burst of energy as she rode to the first village.  She had forgotten just how thrilling it was.  When Robin told her about his exploits, he always emphasized the violence and danger, never the fun.  She frowned at the recollection; he probably just wanted all the excitement to himself, she thought.  Though she made all of her deliveries without incident, she felt a greater strain on her energy than she could remember in the past.  While she had planned to visit Clun as well, she was so weary after a couple of hours that she had to postpone her visit until the following night.

The next morning, she vomited again, though she had purposefully eaten less the night before.  This time, she did mention it to Edith, who apologized profusely in spite of Marian’s reassurances that she was certain it was only temporary. She offered suggestions for lighter fare, and Marian agreed without question.That night, she decided to restrict herself only to the one village.

She met with further success in making her deliveries, though the evening’s excitement grew exponentially when she encountered Guy and Allan with a handful of men.  She was just about to ascend from the roof of the last house she had to visit when Guy spotted her.  Her heart was pounding in her chest.  It had been many months now since she had felt him dangerous to her as herself, but the look of malice in his eyes as he charged at her quickly let her know she had been right.  He had not forgiven the Night Watchman. Fortunately. Allan saw her almost as soon as Guy did, and quickly stopped him, bringing their horses as close as he could and whispering to him.  Marian suspected that he was reminding him that if he was no longer at odds with Robin, he shouldn’t be with the Night Watchman either.  Whatever he said must have been convincing, because Guy turned around, begrudgingly if the tightness in his shoulders and his final glance back were any indication.  Her anxiety after the encounter meant she was long in falling asleep, but the recollection of Allan chasing after Guy, shouting his name as though he were an unruly dog chasing chickens, brought a smile to her face.

She could tell before she even opened her eyes the next morning that she was going to pay for her exploits.  Not only was she sick, she was too fatigued to get out of bed.  When Edith came up to ask her about breakfast, she offered to send for the doctor, but Marian quickly refused.  She didn’t want to expose her secret to any of the servants, let alone a stranger.  But when her condition in the mornings had improved little by the end of a week, even with no further evening outings, Edith had a different suggestion.

“Would you be willing to see Matilda, my lady?” Edith asked.

Marian knew Matilda through Robin, and had met her several time, though never as a patient.  She kept herself in good condition, even as her skills as a fighter had grown rusty, and was seldom ill.  The thought worried her, though.  She knew that though Matilda was skilled in many areas as a medical practitioner, she was best known in the surrounding villages as a midwife.  Why would Edith send her to a midwife? The answer hardly bore thinking about.

Nonetheless, she made the visit.  As she described her symptoms, the older woman nodded, listening intently.

“So, you’ve been ill only in the mornings?”

“Yes”

“And weary . . . without having done anything tiring . . . for most of the day?”

Marian hesitated at that.  She didn’t want to lie, but she didn’t want to reveal her secret activities either.  Finally, she settled on a version of the truth.

“I have been . . . taking rides at night, just for the fresh air.”

Matilda waved her hand dismissively.  “That shouldn’t be enough to tire a healthy young woman like you.”  Then she paused, uncertain.

“My lady, this will sound like an impertinent question, but . . . have you bled in the past month.”

Marian spent several moments in silence, reflecting.  The question surprised her, but she thought it might be relevant to the fatigue she was feeling.  She had been through so much in the past month: losing her father, leaving her home, being abandoned by Robin.  Through all of that mental anguish, she had barely paid attention to her physical health, but now that she thought about it, she remembered.

“No, I have not.”

Matilda pressed her lips into a firm, thin line.  “Well, then, I have to ask . . . have you been with Robin as with a husband.”

Marian lifted a hand to her mouth in shock.  It wasn’t that she was ashamed of sleeping with the man she loved.  She never had been, but the meaning behind the question, and all she had been experiencing over the past two weeks, was becoming clear, and the realization threatened to overwhelm her.

“My lady, I am sorry to pry, but I need . . .”

“No, no.  I understand.  I’m not angry with you, I . . . yes.  Yes, we are lovers. We were.”

Matilda sighed and placed and comforting hand on her arm.  “Well then, my lady, I wish I could give you this news under better circumstances, but these are the circumstances we have.  You’re going to have Robin’s baby.  This is what you need to start doing now in to prepare yourself.”

Marian tried to pay attention to every piece of information Matilda gave her, but it seemed to her nothing but one restriction after another.  No riding, no strenuous activity.  So much for her reprising her career as the Night Watchman, she thought, and had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to stave off the tears of disappointment that gathered in her eyes. As she went on, Marian began to feel even more helpless than she had when she found out Robin had left her.  Even more than after her marriage to Guy.  Simultaneously with the last thought, Matilda said something that brought Marian’s attention back to her.

“Of course, there’s the scandal that women who don’t have a husband at home face.”

The idea of other people finding out felt so remote, but she discovered that her shock had made her forget an important fact.

“But, I do.  I do have a husband,” Marian reminded her

Matilda looked at her with confusion for a moment before she understood.  Then she tossed her head with a snort.

“That wretch hardly counts. He’s too busy squeezing people for money they don’t have to care about a child that isn’t even his.  He doesn’t even care for his own poor bastards, if the rumors are true.  Don’t waste your hope, my lady; you’ll get no help from him.”

She made no reply, but as Matilda continued with her advice, she began to design her own course of action.  There was only one way to find out if Guy would help her or not.  



	5. News and Wine

Guy had been twitching with nerves almost since Allan brought the news that Marian wanted to see him.  At first, he had been glad Allan was visiting her. He didn’t dare visit on his own, but he couldn’t help being anxious about her. And she trusted Allan, he believed, in spite of Allan’s disapproval of some of her past actions.  Moreover, he trusted Allan to tell him only what he needed to know about her.

He had expected that Marian would continue to want to see as little of him as possible, so he had no idea what she could possibly want. After instructing his men to take their orders from Allan for the evening, he set out to pay his visit, trying to work out the reason as he rode. It couldn’t be a problem with the servants because they loved her, or with the house itself since he had made no changes since she was living there with him all those months ago, except regarding furniture he was certain she would not use.  She hadn’t summoned him to find out what had happened to the downstairs bed.

Remembering the bed only made him more worried.  He had ordered it brought in on the wedding day at Marian’s request.  She had been injured by a fall from her horse, and wanted to sleep alone as she healed.  “It was the longest healing injury in history, no doubt,” Guy thought bitterly.  She had slept in the upstairs bedroom alone for two months, before she left him. The second bed was less luxurious than the upstairs one, and narrower, but long enough to accommodate his height.  What he had hated about was the nightly reminder that he was not permitted to sleep with his wife. On the day she left, he had ordered the bed put in storage in an empty cottage nearby, but he had regretted his haste.  He hadn’t been able to sleep at all in the master bed that night because it smelled of her, reminding him of how much he still wanted her, even in the face of her rejection.  The next morning, he had the bedlinens she had slept on burned and replaced them.

As he dismounted and tied his mare in front of the house, he suddenly recalled that he had not spoken to Marian at Locksley since the day she left.  All of his meetings with her since had taken place at the castle, or in public. He also couldn’t help remembering  the last time she had wanted to see him unexpectedly. Just before the wedding, she had asked him if he tried to kill the king, and he lied.  She knew better now, of course; Hood’s demand that he confess in order to be allowed to disclose the Sheriff’s plans to him had seen to that. He smiled wryly to himself before knocking.  At least her knowing his darkest secrets now meant only that he would not have to lie again, no matter what she asked.

The door opened to reveal the dour face of the head cook, who now apparently served multiple roles in the household.  From the way her small grey eyes squinted up at him, he wondered for a moment whether Marian had forgotten to tell her about his visit.  After a moment’s pause, though, she said, ‘My lady will be with you in a moment, my lord.  I’ve prepared a table by the fireplace where you may sit and wait if you wish,” in spiritless resignation.

Guy glared down at her without speaking.  There was something about her look and tone he did not like.  Although nothing she said was out of order, she seemed to admit him almost begrudgingly. Nonetheless, he followed her lead, hoping that the contents of the table would include wine.

Upon discovering that one of the bottles he had ordered when he though he and Allan would be spending more time there was waiting, already opened, he immediately poured a glass. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Edith look him over with disapproval, and fought back an urge to round on her.  Instead, he took a deep drink of his wine and ignored her; he was uptight enough already without wasting energy on judgmental servants.

Fortunately, Marian herself appeared within a couple of minutes.  Immediately upon her arrival, Guy was struck by how different she looked.  He would have thought that her grief for her father would have moderated somewhat in the past few weeks, but if anything she looked even worse than at the funeral.  She had the same dark circles and sickly complexion, but now with a nervousness that had not been present before. He suddenly wondered if she wanted to see him about something related to her health, but why him of all people?  “Can I pour you a glass of wine?” he asked, looking down to notice that he was holding the only glass that had been on the table. He turned to Edith. “You there.  You forgot a glass.  Bring another one,” he snapped.  The woman had the effrontery to look to Marian rather than obeying him.

“Oh, no.  That’s fine, Edith.  I hadn’t planned to drink anyway.  That will be all for now, thank you.  I’ll let you know if we need anything.”

Guy wondered if Marian were being excessively polite to make up for his brusqueness, and the thought filled him with a peculiar mixture of indignation and shame.  At that moment, Edith turned to Marian with concern written across her face, glancing at Guy and back again.

“Are you certain, my lady?” she asked quietly.

“Do as you’re told, woman!” Guy growled.  He was fed up with her suspicion; did she think Marian had invited him there to assault her?

Edith left with a final glance at her mistress, but Marian gave him a hard, critical look.

“Have some more wine, Guy, and please have a seat,” she suggested in a colder tone, her veneer of politeness slipping.

Guy felt momentarily chastened, and complied.

“Allan tells me you’ve been feeling unwell.  I’m sorry to hear that.  Have you seen a doctor?” he asked.

Marian sighed, suddenly despondent.  Guy felt a bit of his worry for his own comfort subside, turning to sympathy for her.

“Yes.  I . . . I’ve been to see Matilda.”

Guy fought back a sneer.  “That witch,” he thought to himself.  He remembered Matilda well from the pond incident: one of the most unpleasant women he had ever encountered.

“And what was her diagnosis?” he asked, trying and failing to keep the mocking tone out of his voice.

Marian’s expression could not have been graver, and Guy felt his stomach sink.  He steeled himself to expect the worst.

“Guy,” she began, then paused as though looking for the right words.  “I am . . . in trouble.”

He could feel his pulse throbbing in his ears, but he could see that she was worried enough without his feelings making it worse.  He thought of the tone Allan used when he was trying to calm him down.

“Well, Marian, you’ve been in trouble for as long as I’ve known you.  How different can this be?”

It didn’t work.  Marian’s frown deepened and she hung her head for a moment, as though fighting back tears.  When she looked up he could see them standing in the corners of her eyes.

“I’m carrying Robin’s child, Guy.  That’s how different it can be.”

His mouth fell open.  He felt as though he could slide out of the chair.  The flurry of conflicting emotions that clouded his mind made it impossible for him to reply for some minutes.  Though he suspected that Marian had been sleeping with Robin since she left Locksley, if not before, the confirmation made his stomach churn with jealously.  Yet he also felt sorry for her.  Robin would be well on his way to the Holy Land by now, impossible to reach by letter.  And who knew when he would be back? Or if? Her worry must be eating her alive. But his jealousy was too powerful to resist.  He had wanted to be Marian’s first lover.  He had wanted to give her his children.  And he would never have left her: not for the king, not for anyone.  It was her fault for not choosing better.

“Well, Marian,” he finally said, bitterly.  “no doubt you’ve had many problems that are my fault, but I think you’ll agree that this is not one of them.”

She looked down at her hands again and shook her head slowly.  When she spoke again, her voice was almost as dull and cold as the servant’s had been when she answered the door.

“No.  This is my problem, not yours.  But after all this time that you’ve been claiming to care for me, I . . . I thought you would want to know.”

At her words, Guy’s simmering jealousy warmed to a pained fury.  “Claiming to care” for her? That was going too far.

“I loved you,” he hissed, leaning as close to her as he could.  “I loved you more than I’ve ever loved anyone.  But you didn’t want my love.  It meant nothing to you.  You used it to get what Hood wanted, and you threw it back in my face.  You don’t get to capitalize on it now just because the man you actually want is off playing the hero.”

Marian snatched the wine glass out of his hand.  For a second he thought she meant to imply that it had been the reason for his outburst, but she quickly drained it herself.  Then she stood up to pour another.  Sitting back down, she began to sip more slowly, looking into the fireplace instead of at him.

As he watched her, he felt the tight knot of rage in his belly begin to uncoil, making way for curiosity.  What cutting thing would she say to him in response?

When she finally spoke again, her words were almost as unexpected as her initial confession.

“You’re right, Guy.”

“I . . . what?”

“It’s true.  I did deceive you.  I broke every holy promise I made to you.”

She finally looked at him, and his shocked silence seemed to encourage her.

“The reason I asked you here is because you are still my husband in the eyes of the law, however unfaithful I have been.  The only way for me to keep my good name in Nottingham is to convince people that the child is yours when my pregnancy becomes known.”

She paused again, giving him time to consider.  That was a perfectly rational explanation, he thought.  It was the first thing she had said in a long time that he could fully believe. And her admission that she had deceived him and broken her vows amazed him.  Even when she told him she loved Robin month before, she had not acknowledged that. He watched as she took another sip of wine before continuing.

“But, I suppose I must do without a good name in Nottingham.  It seems inevitable, really.  This is what I should’ve know would come of fornicating with an outlaw. But, most of the people here in Locksley will know that the child is Robin’s, and perhaps I can cling to their support because of that.”

She almost seemed to be speaking more to herself than to Guy.  He wanted to remind her of his presence, but her unexpectedly easy resignation left him at a loss for words. Finally, she looked at him again.

“But I don’t blame you for not wanting to help me, and I don’t think anyone else will either.”

Guy fumbled with his thoughts; he felt he had to make some reply to that. “Well . . . I . . . you seem . . . calm about it.”  He cursed himself inwardly.

Marian stared into the bottom of her now empty glass. “I’m possibly a little drunk,” she replied.  “But I was worried about what you would say, and now I know.  It’s not what I wanted, but it’s a relief just to have an answer, I suppose.”

He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, cupping his chin in his hands, and thought.  If she could be calm and rational about this, why shouldn’t he?

“I haven’t given you an answer,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

“You . . . I’m sorry? What did you say?” she asked.

He sat up and looked at her.  “What did you want me to do? Specifically.”

Marian blinked with disbelief.  She looked at her wine glass again and put it on the table, pushing it away from herself.  Guy took the opportunity to fill it up for himself.  If he was going to agree to what he thought he might say, he would definitely need it.

“I . . . wanted to ask,” she went on, falteringly. “If it’s not too much of an inconvenience, I wanted to see if you might . . . just come and . . . spend the night here.  Just for a couple of nights.” And then she added, “downstairs.”

Guy took a long drink, contemplating silently.  That didn’t sound very different than their arrangement when they were married.  I had been agonizing then, but he had been sleeping alone.  That didn’t have to be the case now.

“Let’s make it a full week.  A couple of nights could just be business.  A week implies that I’m there for . . . pleasure.  And will give people more time to take notice.  If the news of your pregnancy comes out after you’ve spent a week of nights with your husband, no one will question that I’m the father.”

He noted with smug satisfaction that Marian looked as shocked as he had felt a moment before. “I . . . yes.  I think that . . . what you say sounds reasonable.  Sounds like . . . plenty of time,” she concluded.

“Shall we come tomorrow evening, then?”

That seemed to puzzle her; she cocked her head to the side. “We?”

“I’m going to bring Allan with me.”

Marian blinked, as though the thought had never occurred to her.  But then she smiled. “Certainly, you should bring Allan. I only asked to see you alone today because . . . well, I thought Allan might try to convince you.  And I wanted you to make up your own mind.”

Guy couldn’t help smirking wryly at that.  She was astute enough to see that Allan had influence over him, but considering what Allan had said about Marian when Guy arrived in his room after his last time sharing a bed with her, he wasn’t sure he would plead her case.

He finished his drink and got up to leave, not wanting to overstay his welcome before he had even packed.

“Expect Allan and me by dinnertime tomorrow.  And make sure to have some of the men bring in the spare bed for the downstairs room.  It’s in the empty cottage under the big oak.”

With those words he made his exit.  If Marian had doubts now that he had agreed, he did not want to see them on her face.  But by the time he mounted his horse and turned her towards the castle, he had a new problem.

How was he going to tell Allan?


	6. Packing

Allan didn’t like this plan at all.  He was sitting with his back against the headboard of their bed at the castle, watching his lover compare innumerable black clothing items, trying to decide which ones to take to Locksley for his week-long stay.

“Are you sure she wants you to stay as long as that?” he asked with a concerned frown.

Without looking up, Guy replied, “She said that sounded like plenty of time when I brought it up.” Even he sounded a bit doubtful.

Allan raised his eyebrows. “When you brought it up? So this was your idea?”

Guy sighed with resignation, and closed his trunk, looking up at him wearily.

“She invited me to stay for a few nights to give people a plausible reason to believe her baby is mine.  I already told you that, Allan.” He said the last part in a clipped tone of impatience that put the smaller man on alert.

“I may not have much experience with this, but even I know it doesn’t take a week to make a baby, Guy.  It doesn’t even take an hour.  You could’ve done it in the time you were there this evening.”

“It doesn’t matter how long it _actually_ takes, Allan.  All that matters is what people think, and the longer I’m there, the more believable it will be.”

Allan had no response to that.  Clearly, he wasn’t going to reason Guy out of this mad idea.  He would have to try another approach.

It wasn’t that he didn’t feel for Marian and want to help her.  Although they argued when she told him about her confession to Guy that she was in love with Robin, it hadn’t taken long for them to forget it.  Their mutual effort in getting Guy and Robin to cooperate had done that for them, and since then they had enjoyed a warm friendship.

Still, he did not trust her where Guy was concerned, or Guy where she was concerned for that matter.  Only a couple of months before, Guy had banished him to the small, drafty room he had slept in when he first came to the castle because the Sheriff insisted on his inviting Marian to his birthday feast.  The first two nights had apparently gone without incident, but on the third, Guy had come to his room and woken him up after midnight to tell him a story so bizarre he could still hardly believe it.  In an effort to help him sleep, or so she said, Marian had tied him to his headboard and brought him to completion with her hand on his cock.  Then, she apparently had some kind of guilt-stricken breakdown, leaving Guy no recourse but to get dressed and flee.  She wasn’t the only person who had an emotional breakdown that night.  Allan had been up almost until dawn comforting a tearful black knight, reassuring him that whatever had happened was not entirely his fault. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of that unfortunate incident.

“Guy, listen,” he said in a softer tone.

Guy looked up at him, and Allan took a moment to study his features.  When he had told Guy that Marian wanted to see him, his forehead had immediately creased with worry, and he had been agitated up the moment of his departure towards Locksley.  When he came back, though, his worry had vanished and been replaced by a look of dogged determination.  He was so resolved that Allan was left to wonder whether he had learned anything at all from the last night he had spent in Marian’s company.

“Are you sure you’re ready to spend all that time with her? After what happened before?” he continued finally.

“But this time is completely different,” Guy insisted.  “When we were both living at Locksley after we were married, I thought she would come around to sleeping with me.  I expected it.  But now I know better.  She’s pregnant with another man’s child, Allan.  And she told me that.  She’s being completely honest.”

Allan had to fight to keep the wave of skepticism that passed through him from showing in his face. If there was one thing Marian had never been with Guy, it was completely honest.  No doubt there was a great deal of truth in what she said about the baby and her need to convince people that it was his.  But whatever she may have convinced Guy of in the past, it was also true that she desired him.  She hadn’t been able to keep her hands off of him for three nights when Robin was still just a few miles away in Sherwood Forest. How would she be able to restrain herself for a week when her lover was currently on his way across an ocean?

“I’m not talking about when you were living together.”

“Oh,” Guy replied, and his face fell.  Allan had often wondered if he had simply chosen to put the nights he had spent in bed with Marian out of his mind, and his crestfallen expression seemed to confirm it.  For a moment, Allan was angry with himself for bringing it up, but if it made Guy hesitate to spend the week at Locksley, it would be well worth it.

“I know . . . that’s hard for you to think about what happened.  But surely you can see this isn’t so different.  Before, Marian didn’t even want to be there, and . . . you know what happened.”

Guy made no reply, but Allan could almost see the wheels turning behind his eyes.  He smiled inwardly at his success before going on.

“Now, she’s invited you there, and she’ll be grateful for your help. But you did her a good turn by not telling the Sheriff about her and Robin.  And letting her go back and live at Locksley alone when she asked you. You’ve helped Marian a lot, but from a distance. But do you think you can just come home at the end of the week, and everything will be as it was?”

Guy frowned at that thoughtfully, and was a long time in answering. Allan tried to be patient, but he felt his pulse quickening with eagerness.

“No, I don’t think everything will be the same.  I think maybe . . . finally . . . Marian and I can try to be friends.”

Allan failed to hold back a snort of laughter, drawing a scowl from Guy.

“Guy . . . I’m not being funny, but when have you ever wanted to be her friend? I don’t think you wanted anything but to marry her until you knew she was in love with Robin.” And maybe even after, he thought to himself, but he didn’t dare say it out loud.

“That’s not true,” Guy muttered indignantly.  “I did want her friendship . . . from the moment I met her.  But then Rob . . .  Hood came back, and I thought that . . .”

“What?” Allan asked with a smile when Guy failed to continue. “You thought you’d lose your ‘friend’ if you didn’t marry her before her childhood sweetheart did?”

Guy looked down and a faint blush rose in his cheeks, but he said no more.

“I’ll tell you what I think,” Allan went on, more gently. “I think you offered friendship because you thought she would take that, and then when she got to know you better, it would turn into what you really wanted.  But, Guy . . . that didn’t happen.”

Guy turned away from him and sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

“That was all so long ago, Allan.  Why even bring it up?” he asked pettishly.  For all it’s happening a long time ago, it obviously still stung.  Allan sat up and scooted over next to him, wrapping an arm around him and leaning against his shoulder.

“I know it was, Giz,” he cooed. “But what I’m saying is, Marian has hurt you in the past.  I don’t think she meant to.  Maybe she didn’t realize or maybe she just didn’t think about it.  But she has, and I don’t want it to happen again.”

Guy breathed a deep sigh of resignation, but that seemed to placate him.  He lay his head against Allan’s and said, “Well, it’s a good thing I’ll have you there to protect me, isn’t it?”

Allan sat up and looked at him, wide-eyed with surprise.  “Marian invited me too?” he asked.

“Well, no. But I told her I was bringing you, and she didn’t object.”

Relief washed over him.  Marian hadn’t said she wanted him there, but that was alright.  Marian didn’t have to get everything she wanted.

But going to Locksley with Guy did post one problem. Allan knew it had been a long time since more than one person had lived there, and he only knew of the bed upstairs. “Where will we sleep?”

“Well, you did say back then that you didn’t mind sleeping between us,” Guy replied with a smirk.

Allan rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. “I didn’t mean in your dreams, Guy.  Where will Marian actually put us?”

Guy chuckled and pushed himself back to lie in the center of the bed. “We can use that old bed in the vacant cottage.  You remember the one.”

Allan did remember the one.  He and Guy had made use of it after Robin had caught them in his old bedroom at Locksley, and Guy had deemed it unsafe.

“And there’s an old storage room downstairs that can serve as a bedroom, if it’s still empty.  It’s much less drafty than this room for certain.”

Allan moved to lie next to Guy on his side, and propped himself up on an elbow.

“And that’s where you slept after the wedding?” he asked, moving his hand to fiddle with a clasp on Guy’s jacket. He hoped that question wouldn’t also open old wounds.

“Yes.”

“That sounds . . . lonely.”

Guy placed his own hand on top of Allan’s and drew it away from his chest, interlocking their fingers.

“It was.  But not with you there it won’t be.”

Allan pushed himself up to lean over Guy, bracing himself on both hands.  Then he bent down to press a kiss to his lips, feeling a gentle tug on his scalp as Guy buried the fingers of his other hand in his hair.  They kissed again, longer and deeper, until they were both breathless.

“I will warn you, though,” Guy said, his voice roughened with arousal.  “There isn’t as much space in the spare bed.  We’ll have to sleep close.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem.” Allan grinned down at him wickedly, sitting back to open his clasps and work open the laces at the front of his trousers.  “We’ve never needed a lot of space.”


	7. Bay Horses

Taking Guy’s wine had been a bad idea.  Almost as soon as he had closed the door behind him, Marian found herself retching into the empty kindling bucket by the fireplace.

“Please don’t be distressed, my lady,” Edith had said when she came in moments later.  “We’ll get through just fine without his help.  You mustn’t make yourself ill over him.”

When Marian told her what his answer to her request had been, the old woman had not been able to hide her disappointment.

“Well, whatever you think best, of course, but I still think you would be better off to have nothing to do with him.”

Marian would have smiled at that had she felt less queasy.  It wasn’t hard to see why Edith and Guy had not gotten along well.  In the months she had been there, she had never heard Guy call one of the Locksley servants by name; it was always “you,” or “boy,” or something else wholly impersonal. At the time, she had felt there was nothing she could do about it.  Now, though, things would surely be different. If she and Guy were spending time together on honest terms, perhaps she could suggest that he be kinder to the servants.

The only reason she had gone through with the marriage after the king’s return was exposed as a hoax was because Robin had convinced her that it would give them an advantage in discovering the Sheriff’s plans and intercepting them before they could bring any harm.  He had never been more wrong. Once she had married Guy, she no longer had anything to bargain with except the thing she could not give up and still have the annulment she so wanted.  Once Guy had finally accepted that, he had become more and more withdrawn from her.  As she had become more irritable with his presence, so had he with hers.  While he never took out his frustration on her, the servants had been less fortunate.  It seemed that none of them could do anything right; his shouting at servants signaled both his arrival and departure in those days.  If they saw him as a usurper of Robin’s home when he arrived at Locksley, they saw him as an absolute tyrant by the time he had moved to the castle full time. The exchange she had seen between him and Edith showed her that neither of them had forgotten it.

And yet, she wondered what kinds of changes Allan’s presence would make.  After all, he was of low birth, and that hadn’t stopped Guy from choosing him as a lover.  Of course, she recalled that he was not the first peasant Guy had chosen, but he seemed to care for him.  Otherwise, why would he still be with him after all this time? She was certain that Allan cared deeply about Guy; he was angrier than she had ever seen him when she told him about leaving Locksley her confession to Guy about her and Robin.  And yet, he was still willing to protect the Night Watchman from him; surely he would do the same for Marian of Knighton should the need arise. 

It wasn’t that she felt threatened by Guy directly, but she feared the unpleasant memories his return to Locksley might stir in both of them. Plus, if she was honest, she was curious to see their relationship in action.  She had seen them together for a moment at the funeral, but Guy had been in such a hurry to leave after she hugged him that she couldn’t get a sense of what they were like together. In spite of her anxiety about Guy, she found herself looking forward all day to their arrival in the evening.

They arrived separately, Guy first.  His disappointment when he asked if Allan had arrived made her realize she was not the only one relying on him to ease conversation between herself and her husband.

“What did you do today?” she asked, in a half-hearted attempt to make polite conversation after she invited him in.

Guy snorted and turned his head away so brusquely that Marian doubted for a moment whether he would deign to answer her question. He did, finally, but without taking his eyes away from the front door.

“The Sheriff separated us, dividing my men between us, to go and inspect cottages to see which might best be suited to store the weaponry he’s gathering.”

“Why is the Sheriff collecting weapons?” she inquired.

“He’s paranoid about an uprising.  He thinks with Hood gone the peasants will take matters into their own hands.”

“But . . .  does he think they’re going to do this with pruning hooks? With blacksmith’s hammers? These people have no weapons to rise up with.”

Guy lifted his face to the ceiling and sighed. “Yes, well, why don’t you go and tell the Sheriff that, Marian? Then he can have heard it from both of us, and he can ignore both of us.  Would that make you feel better?” he asked sullenly.

She frowned but saw no sense in replying.  If this was how the evening was going to go, she wouldn’t have to wait until dinner to be sick again. Then she heard Guy mutter something under his breath.

“What’s that?” she snapped, irritated by his rudeness.

He gave a little jump, startled by her tone. He glanced at her timidly, then kept his eyes fixed on the window as he answered.  “I just said, I wonder that you’re still asking me that question.  You never liked my answers when I lived here.  What do you think has changed about the Sheriff in a year? Oh, thank God, there’s Allan.”

He said the last part in a dramatically different tone, one full of relief and, Marian thought, perhaps a trace of excitement.  Not content to wait for Allan to enter, he opened the front door and all but bounded out.

“Where have you been?” he chided as Allan dismounted.  “You’re late!”

“I haven’t missed dinner, have I?” the smaller man asked, handing his horse’s reins to a stable boy.  He seemed completely unperturbed by Guy’s tone and the way he was looming over him, as though he knew it was only a temporary irritation and would soon pass.  Marian found herself wondering if that were true as she hugged Allan in greeting.

“I haven’t had a bite all day.  Honestly, if I get any hungrier I’ll turn into Much,” he said in reply when she asked how he was.

Marian smiled and breathed a huge sigh of relief inwardly.  This wasn’t going to be as horrible as she feared.

* * *

By the time the main course was served, Marian felt lighter than she had since the discovery of her pregnancy.  Once the strangeness of dining with two men she had known in such drastically different contexts had passed, she found herself enjoying their company far more than she could have imagined.

Allan was trying to explain to her that his lateness was actually Guy’s fault, indirectly.

“If that scatterbrained beast of his would stand still for me to get on him, I could’ve been here a full quarter of an hour faster.”

“Yes, that’s right Allan, blame _the horse_ ,” Guy scoffed.  “Marian, you should see the way he tries to mount the poor animal,” he said, turning to her.  “He throws himself over the saddle like a sack of potatoes, then wriggles and writhes until he finally gets his leg on the other side.  And then he has to find the stirrups.  It takes a good quarter of an hour.”

Allan, who had been nodding enthusiastically throughout this little speech, cried “Hey, it’s not my fault your horses are too tall, Guy.  Half of England would need a step ladder to get on one.  That I can get on him from the ground is bloody miraculous.”

Guy shrugged.  “What can I say? I have long legs.”

“True enough,” Allan agreed.  “You don’t really need a horse at all, do you? I’ll tell you what.  Why don’t you give me your mare the next time the Sheriff sends us out together, and you can run alongside.”

Marian laughed so loudly at that image that they both turned to smile at her.  She felt a blush creep into her cheeks at being the center of attention, and tried to restart the conversation.

“So, the horse Allan uses is yours, Guy?”

“Yes, I got that little bay two winters ago,” he replied, ignoring Allan’s scoff and the roll of his eyes at the word “little.” “He was meant to serve as my back-up if the mare ever went lame, but that hasn’t been a problem, thank God. So, I let Allan use him.” 

“That’s kind,” Marian offered, noticing a flash of discomfort cross Guy’s face.  It made her curious; why did he always do that when she complimented him?

“Not at all.  Otherwise, I’d have to put him on my horse behind me to take him anywhere.  It think that would get tiresome quickly.”

“Well, I think you’d love it,” Allan countered with a saucy grin from across the table.

Marian regarded them from her position at the opposite end.  Though Guy was clearly trying to look stern, he couldn’t hide the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.  She had always known Allan to be fun-loving and full of mischief, but the transformation he brought about in Guy was almost beyond belief. Marian didn’t think she had ever seen him so relaxed before.  She had thought him self-assured when he was courting her, disagreeably cocky at times.  But this was something different entirely.  With her, he always seemed to be trying so hard, but his conversation with Allan was effortlessly natural. It almost made her a bit jealous.

“But he didn’t need to give you his spare horse.  I’m sure the Sheriff’s stables are far from empty,” Marian pointed out. Allan gave a little shrug and looked at Guy with deference before picking up his knife and fork again.  Guy considered it for a moment.  “Yes, that’s true.  But I wanted to put him on a horse I knew to be safe, and I trust my taste in horses far more than the Sheriff’s.” He looked at Allan, who was concentrating his efforts on the plate of food in front of him, with a fond little smile.

“You do have good taste.  The little bay stallion you gave me was lovely.”

When Guy looked at her again, it was as though she had broken the spell. The hard lines returned to his face, and his eyes narrowed with the anger and frustration she had been used to seeing there.  She realized her mistake too late.

“Yes, I thought so too,” he said coldly.  “I’ve often wondered what happened to that horse.”

Marian almost winced at the scowl he directed at her.  Guy knew the horse had not come to Locksley with her after the wedding, and there was no one at Knighton who needed him.  The truth was that she had sold him, along with all of Guy’s other gifts, and given the money to the poor.  While she cared nothing for the jewels and other finery, it had been hard to part with the animal.  But Robin had been adamant that it made no sense for her to marry a man for the sole purpose of helping the poor and yet keep his gifts for herself when others needed the money so badly.  Selling everything was easier than putting up with his criticism. But she couldn’t bring herself to tell Guy that.

She felt a rush of relief when Allan broke the uncomfortable silence.

“I’m no expert, you know, but I do think they make horses in other colors, right, Giz? Why all these bays all the time?”

Guy reprieved Marian to glance back at him.  “Well, Allan, it’s not easy to find a true black horse.  Bay is the closest I can get most of the time.”

“So you buy horses to match your outfits? Why am I not surprised?”

When Marian caught Allan’s eye, she mouthed a silent “thank you” to him, only to receive a frown in response. That took her by surprise; if he blamed her for the turn in the conversation, why come to her aid?

Fortunately, Guy chose that moment to glance back at her also, shaking his head in mock exasperation. “Do you see the insolence I have to put with?” he asked, clearly not expecting an answer.

She smiled warmly at the two of them in response.  She certainly did see.

* * *

The rest of dinner had gone without incident, and once Marian was certain that Guy and Allan had everything they needed to pass the night comfortably in the makeshift downstairs bedroom, she retired to her own room.  She had purposefully eaten less at dinner—only a slice of bread and a small piece of meat—in order to avoid being ill.  No such luck.  A few hours after going to sleep, she awoke to the familiar churning in her stomach.  At least she was getting better at predicting when she would actually vomit after these two weeks, and knew that she would have to make it to the garderobe.  She passed Guy and Allan’s room in a hurry, but with her stomach was empty and her head clear, she couldn’t help but hear the sound of voices through the slightly open door on her way back to bed. She paused by the door, telling herself that they might need something.

“Are you alright, pet,” she heard Guy ask in a slow, sleepy voice.

“Huh? I’m fine.”

“You’re a little restless.”

“Oh.  I didn’t kick you again did I?” In spite of Allan’s sleepiness, Marian could hear the note of apology in his voice.

Guy gave with a little chuckle. “No. But if you keep wiggling like that, you may start something we’re too tired to finish.”

Allan laughed softly in response. “Well, then, try lying on your back and let me put my head on your . . . yeah, like that.”

Marian heard the bed creak as the two men shifted positions, and suddenly felt intensely self-conscious.  As she walked away quickly, she felt a surge of warmth spread through her core, and it puzzled her.  Certainly part of it was embarrassment at hearing such an intimate exchange between them, one obviously not meant for her ears.  But she also felt what she thought must be an odd sense of gratitude to Allan.  It was obvious now that Guy could be caring and generous as a lover, if he were given the chance. Out of idle curiosity, she had sometimes wondered if his gifts and concern for her happiness would have stopped had she slept with him after they were married.  Seeing how he was with Allan, she concluded that they would not; that was simply his way with those for whom he cared. Since she could never reciprocate his feelings, she was glad he had found someone who did.

After she lay down and consciousness began to slip away from her, another possibility suggested itself.  Was she perhaps jealous? While her lover was far away when she most needed him, Allan’s was lying next to him, making sure that he was comfortable.  Somehow, that answer failed to fully satisfy also, but sleep claimed her before she could give it further thought.


	8. At the Castle

Allan made sure he was at Locksley by sundown for dinner the following night.  The Sheriff had separated them again, and he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that perhaps he was comparing them, trying to discern which of them could complete each task more to his satisfaction.  It was definitely something he would have to bring up with Guy when they were alone.

He could see that his lover’s nerves had been fraying more easily lately, and he suspected that it was because of the new arrangement with Marian.  The past few months had been the happiest he could remember.  Although he hated working for the Sheriff, convincing Guy to help Robin had him thinking they both might be free of him soon.  What had frustrated him about Robin had been that he always knew part of his goal was to restore order.  Part of what he meant by “order” was getting Locksley back and regaining his position of power and privilege.  Where would that leave the rest of them? Robin hadn’t seemed willing to think that far ahead, but the prospects had seemed pretty bleak to Allan.  Attaching himself to Guy had proven beneficial in ways he could not have imagined when he decided to offer his services.  Guy too was a nobleman, but he had no lands to get back; he might be open to new ideas.  Allan didn’t know what they might be yet, but the thought that he might not have to face that future alone never failed to brighten his mood.

He just had to get Guy through this unexpected predicament with Marian first. The previous night had done a lot to reassure him that it might not be as difficult as he expected.  Apart from the moment of tension when Marian thoughtlessly brought up the horse Guy had given her, their conversation had been friendly and easy: a complete about face from the disaster Allan had witnessed at Sir Edward’s funeral.  The bed was a bit snug for him and Guy together, but nothing he couldn’t handle for a week.  He was certain it was more comfortable than the beds the gang had wherever they were.  As much as he worried for them, he had not wished to be on that trip for a single moment.

By the time he approached Locksley, he worked out a plan for the conversation that night.  Marian and Guy seemed to be most relaxed when the conversation focuses on the present, so he would do everything he could to keep their past from coming up.

His companions couldn’t make that easy, though. 

“Guy, have you ever thought of getting Allan a horse better suited to his height?” Marian asked.

“A horse or a goat?” Guy replied.  “Oi, behave yourself” he gasped when Allan tossed a bread crust sideways into his soup to punish him for his cheek.

“Or what, I’ll miss out on my goat?”

Guy straightened his back haughtily, turning away from his lover to answer Marian directly.

“I have given it some thought, but I’ve cut back on frivolous spending since I bought your horse.  You may remember that I was robbed just before our wedding.”

Allan watched as the color drained from Marian’s face.  “Robbed?” she squeaked out.

“Yes.  The Night Watchman paid me a visit.”

Marian looked as though she might be ill, and Allan was momentarily glad that at least she had the excuse of her pregnancy nausea to fall back on.  Then he looked down at the table in front of her and realized that she had carried out the idea she mentioned of avoiding sickness by not actually eating with them.  She had only a goblet of water in front of her.  He would have to act quickly.

“Oh yeah, I remember that night.  We were all there; the whole gang.”

“Yeah, and you took half the contents of my chest.”

“And we would’ve had all of it.  But the Night Watchman could only carry so much.”

Guy shrugged and took a sip of his wine.  “I suppose I should be grateful it was just a teenager from York instead of the big bear with the big stick, then.  I could be penniless.”

Allan turned to wink at Marian, who was already beginning to get color back into her cheeks.  She gave him a thankful little smile.

After he and Guy had encountered Marian in Clun a couple of weeks earlier, his lover had demanded that Allan tell him who he was.  Since they had worked so closely together, he assumed he had to know.  It was only by promising to tell him later that he had gotten him to desist his pursuit.  Though Guy insisted that he was only curious about the man’s identity, Allan didn’t quite trust him.  Once they were back in their room at the castle, Allan had constructed a rebellious young nobleman who was born in York and had been trained as a knight, but chose to give up wealth and privilege to help the poor.  When he noticed Guy yawning at this description, he added that the man had refused to work directly with Robin because he disagreed with most of his orders, and it created too much conflict.  It made him feel better to add some truth amid all the lies, and that detail made Guy smile.  He even confessed some regret over having stabbed the Night Watchman, and was glad he had survived.

“That money was almost stolen twice that night.  Will and I almost ran away with it.”

“Oh, yes, I’d forgotten about that!” Marian exclaimed, having fully recovered from her momentary panic.

“You did what? You robbed Robin Hood?” Guy asked with a grin.

Allan looked back and forth between them rapidly, wishing he had kept his big mouth shut.  There was no way to make his reply equally appealing to both of them.

“I started to, but Will convinced me to go back, to give it to the poor. The presently poor. If it had been just me, though, I’d probably never have been heard from again.  I hope you’re not too disappointed,” he said, looking at Guy but meaning it for Marian.

Guy scoffed. “I don’t think there’s anything you could tell me that would shock me anymore, Allan.  I know you too well.”

When he glanced at Marian, she was still smiling. “Sometimes we all need someone to put us back on the right track.”

Allan frowned, waiting for her to add that he hadn’t stayed on the right track for long, but the reminder never came.

“Well, if I had known at the time that I was cheating myself out of a new horse, I might have been harder to convince. I don’t think that Night Watchman needed to be so greedy.  You know, for the poor.”

Marian gave a quick roll of her eyes and turned back to Guy.  Soon, they were immersed in their own conversation. Once Allan realized that it, too, was about horses, he focused all his energy on eating.  Truly, there was no topic that bored him more.  If he had his way, he would never interact with any animal bigger than a dog, but he was glad the two of them had found a safe, neutral topic to discuss. He was beginning to worry that the secret to making them get along was not to focus their attention on the present, but to keep it on himself.  It was exhausting.  Having been reprieved for the moment, he ignored them so completely that Marian startled him when she called his name some minutes later.

“What’s that?” he gasped.

“Sorry, Allan.  I said it might be a good idea if you don’t spend every night of the week here.”

As soon as he narrowed his eyes with suspicion, she went on hurriedly. “It’s not that I don’t enjoy your company. I do! It’s just . . . well, if we want this scheme to work, people have to believe Guy is sleeping with me.”

Allan nodded in understanding, “And you don’t think people will believe he would choose you with such a fetching thing as myself in the house?”

“I’m glad you’ve stayed humble, Allan,” Guy interjected with a snort, but he smirked naughtily when their eyes met.

“Well, it wouldn’t be an easy decision for him, clearly,” Marian replied looking back and forth between them.  Allan thought he heard a note of fondness in her voice.  “I would rather err on the side of caution.”

Allan pursed his lips thoughtfully. She had a good point.  The rumors about him and Guy could very well have spread to Locksley by now, and the Sheriff already knew the truth of them.  He was the person with the most against Marian, and so he was the one who most needed convincing. At the same time, he didn’t like the idea of leaving Guy at Locksley alone.  Or of sleeping alone himself, for that matter.

He glanced at Guy, who was hanging on his answer anxiously.

“What do you say, Giz? Will you be alright by yourself for a couple of nights?”

He shrugged in an attempt at indifference. “Well, as long as Marian promises not the let the servants murder me in my sleep . . .”

“Honestly, Guy,” she interjected.  “If you would just stop glaring at them, they’d stop glaring back!”

He gave her an apologetic little smile.  “If you think it necessary, then yes.”

“Then I guess it’s decided,” Allan conceded, hoping his disappointment wasn’t too evident.

* * *

That night when Allan lay down next to Guy, he realized that he must have seemed more hesitant to go along with Marian’s idea than he realized.  Guy pulled him against his chest and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“Don’t worry, pet.  It will only be for a few more nights, and then it will be just us again.”

Allan snuggled against him, wrapping an arm around his waist.  Now that they were close like this, he realized how much he would miss Guy’s body the next night, and however many nights followed that. He kept telling himself that it was only a week, but he wasn’t sure Guy could pull himself away from his wife so soon.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself.  You and Marian were quite in your own horsey world tonight,” he muttered accusingly.  A chuckle rumbled through Guy’s chest.

“I think she’s just tolerating me because you’re here to steer us away from unpleasant topics.  When we’re alone, she’ll probably find herself ill and have to retire to her room.”

“Well, she is sick a lot, Giz.”

“I know.  I just mean she doesn’t want us here anymore than we want to be here.  Don’t read too much into our dinner conversation, Allan.  We’re nobles.  If there’s anything we know how to do, it’s being civil in unpleasant circumstances.”

Allan felt he could say something about Guy’s coming late to this realization, but his eyelids were beginning to droop, and he knew this might be his last chance for sound sleep for the week.  He said no more, and soon they were both asleep.

* * *

The next evening, he and Guy said a brief goodnight in front of their men, the Master at Arms riding towards Locksley and Allan back to the castle.  By the time he arrived, his heart was already heavy.  He saw now, in some small way, how devastating it must have been for Guy to come back to this cold, dark, cheerless place after his marriage, when he had thought to be happy with Marian at Locksley. Locksley was warm and bright, and even if it did carry some bad memories, they were surely happier than some of those the castle contained. He did cheer up briefly when the guards at Guy’s bedroom door asked about their master.  Was he well? Was Lady Marian being kind to him? At least a few people would be happy to hear that Guy was an expectant father when the news of her pregnancy came out, Allan thought ruefully.

The evening only got worse from there.  Just as he was pulling back the covers to get into bed, he heard shouting on the other side of the door.

“Step aside, you great oaf! I have questions to put to the Master at Arms’ boy!”

Before Allan could reach the door, the Sheriff shoved it open and strode in. He wasted no time in getting to the point.

“What is Gisborne playing at with the leper?”

“I . . . my lord?” Allan stammered.

“And what is he doing sending you back here and keeping away himself?”

“Well . . . I thought one of us should be here.  In case you needed us.”

Vaisey gave a grim smile at that.  “Yes, it would be you who thought of that.  A former member of Robin Hood’s gang, no less.  Certainly not that tart I pulled out of the gutter and brought to such heights. He’s after her again just because . . . what? Did she flash a smile at him or was it something lower.”

Allan felt his chest tighten with rage, and was glad not for the first time that he had a talent for hiding his emotions when he needed to.  How had Guy, who had killed so many since knowing Vaisey, suffered this vile man to live?

“I don’t know, my lord, but . . . they seem to have made up.”

“So they’re fucking, right?”

Allan felt his eyes widen.  Why would that matter to the Sheriff? He struggled to come up with an answer.

“I know you know.  You’ve been spending the night there too.”

Allan wanted to ask how he knew that, but inquisitiveness did not seem the best way to handle Vaisey.

“He’s been sleeping with her.  That’s all I can tell you.”

Vaisey pressed his lips into a thin, cruel line.  “And where have you been sleeping?”

Allan swallowed the knot forming in his throat with some effort.  For once, telling the Sheriff the partial truth seemed the best idea.  “There’s a bed in a storage room downstairs.  I sleep there.”

“You’re loyal, I’ll give you that,” Vaisey said.  He turned to walk a slow circle around Allan, scrutinizing his expression from every angle.  Allan schooled his features to calm indifference. “What did you do to lose his interest, I wonder?”

“I’m not aware that I have lost his interest, my lord.”

“Indeed?” Vaisey asked brightly.  “Well, Gizzy is more open-minded than I thought.  I still have to wonder, though.  Why would she take him back now? Does it have anything to do with the disappearance of our friend, Robin Hood?”

He seemed to be speaking more to himself than Allan, but the younger man decided to voice his curiosity.  “What could this have to do with Robin Hood?”

Vaisey looked back at him.  “Now that I don’t know.  But I’m going to find out.  This woman shows no interest in him, after she takes his name.  She even abandons him to nurse her father until he croaks, and Guy welcomes her back with open arms.  Well, he has always been a fool about her.  But I find it interesting that she chooses this time to ensnare him again. Suspicious, don’t you think?”

Allan made no reply, but glanced sideways at the Sheriff out of the corner of his eye.

He rubbed his thumb and forefinger against the corners of his mouth, again seemingly lost in thought.  Finally, he gave up on Allan and turned towards the door.  Allan sat down heavily on the bed, thinking himself off the hook for the night, when Vaisey turned around abruptly.

“You remind Gisborne where his loyalties should lie.  Unlike the leper, I’ll still have a place for him even after Hood deigns to show his face again.”  


 


	9. The Row

Even after the fourth night he had spent without Allan, the morning of the final day he had planned to spend at Locksley, Guy still immediately looked around for his lover when he opened his eyes.  It surprised him that he had gotten so used to sleeping with another man.  He had always enjoyed sex with men, but he never imagined that he would share the kind of intimacy they now had with anyone other than his wife and the mother of his children. He found that he missed him most in the morning.  What an unexpected luxury it had been to have the first person he spoke to each day be someone who cared for him.

As it stood now, that person was usually a servant.  Or Marian.  Strangely, he seemed to prefer the former.  With a servant, he didn’t have to make conversation, and he simply had no idea what to say to Marian.  Some mornings she didn’t make it downstairs until after he left, but when she did, it was with an expression that forbad the question, “how did you sleep.” It was obvious she had slept like hell from the spiritless expression in her eyes and the heavy bags under them.  He sometimes wondered if she was crying herself to sleep thinking of Robin, but she had mentioned that her nausea was worse at night.  He tried to remember when Annie had been sick during her pregnancy.  She had sometimes mentioned it to him, but he usually saw her only at night, and could not recall her ever being sick then. Now that he thought about it, she was the last person with whom he had slept on a regular basis before taking up with Allan.

All in all, he was glad the coming night would be the last he would spend in this bed.  Being back at Locksley with Marian had brought up many things from the past that he preferred not to think about. Just as he had after their marriage, he found himself drinking more at dinner when it was just the two of them, and now he was paying for it.  The pressure in his bladder was so great that, had he been at the castle, he may have made use of the chamber pot. But the one advantage of the downstairs bedroom was its close proximity to the garderobe.  He made his way there in a hurry as soon as he was dressed.

When he came back to his room a few minutes later, it was with an eerie sense that something was out of place.  Allan insisted on keeping the door to the bedroom slightly open “to let the air circulate,” but Guy always shut doors from force of habit.  He wanted privacy wherever he could get it.  And yet here was the door he was certain, even in his haste, he had shut, standing halfway open. As soon as he entered the doorway, he saw something that made him glad he had just emptied his bladder; he would have ruined his leggings otherwise.

The Sheriff of Nottingham was sitting on his bed.

“Good morning, Gizzy.  Sleep well?” he asked with a malevolent grin.

Guy felt as though his feet were nailed the floor.  Seconds passed before he could either move or speak.

“My lord, I . . . we didn’t expect you . . . so early.”

Vaisey got up and stepped towards him.  “All by design, my friend, all by design.  Tell me, how is your lady this morning?”

Guy made no reply, but followed the Sheriff as he walked out of the room.

The shorter man rounded on him.  “But you haven’t seen her to know, this morning, have you? Now tell me,” he went on, raising his voice with each word, “what in the hell are you doing here with that woman if you’re not sleeping with her?”

Guy gaped in stunned shock.  Allan had told him after his first night back at the castle that Vaisey was suspicious, but he had suspected spies would come calling.  He never dreamed that the Sheriff would show up himself to investigate.

“Well, if you can’t answer me, let’s to ask her, shall we?” And with that, he took off again, this time towards the stairs leading up to the solar where Marian was no doubt still sleeping.

Guy easily overtook him, stepping around in front of him to block further movement.

“Out of my way, Gisborne!”

“My lord, please,” he begged. “I have been sleeping with Marian since I came back here.  But we had a row last night, and I was just sleeping downstairs until things cooled down.”

“But why didn’t you come back to castle, where you’ve been for the ‘row’ the past year of your marriage has been? Answer me that, Gisborne.”

Then he suddenly turned around, as though hearing something behind him.

“Ah, my lady, how good of you to join us.”

Guy looked up to see that Marian had emerged from her room and was standing at the top of the stairs, still in her nightgown and robe.  Guy thought she was looking a little better, the dark circles under her eyes were less pronounced, and her complexion looked a little less green.  Still, the Sheriff’s presence was surely not the thing that would help her nausea.

“My lord, what are you doing here so early?” she asked coldly as she began to descend the stairs.

Guy was struck, not for the first time, by her audacity towards the Sheriff.  A part of him couldn’t help admiring it, but it certainly didn’t make his job easier.  How could he protect both his wife and his position? He felt helpless with anxiety, and it was all he could do restrain himself from fidgeting.

“I came to see what you’ve done with my Master at Arms,” he replied, matching his tone to hers.  “You haven’t spent the night with him since my feast, and that was nearly three months ago.”

“You’re very interested in our married life, my lord,” she said accusingly, “but I can assure you that we’re quite dull.  We only do as other married couples do.”

“So I’ve heard,” Vaisey sneered, “Gisborne tells me you’ve quarreled.”

Marian glanced at Guy for confirmation, and he could just bring himself to give her a tiny nod.  She continued to the bottom of the stairs to stand in front of the Sheriff.

“That’s true, but frankly I can’t see how it’s any of your business.”

“You’re wrong there, my lady” he hissed, taking another step towards her so that they were almost face-to-face.  “Whatever concerns Gisborne concerns me.  If he is distracted, he can’t carry out the work I have for him.  And I’m not going to let anything get in the way of that, including you.”

Guy knew that he had to put a stop to this before their anger escalated into something beyond his control. “Marian . . . I . . .” he blurted out plaintively.

She lifted her face to his and the Sheriff turned to look at him over his shoulder.

“I . . . want to apologize for what I said last night.”

She blinked rapidly several times, processing this step he had taken, forming her own plan.  It clearly did not take her long. “An apology isn’t enough, Guy,” she said, stepping around the Sheriff to walk towards him.  “This isn’t the first time you’ve spoken of my father like that, and I won’t have you disrespect his memory, even if you are my husband.”

Now it was Guy’s turn to blink rapidly.  Where had that come from? He didn’t think he had so much as said her father’s name since the funeral. He lowered his head to hide his confused expression, hoping it would be taken as a convincing gesture of guilt.

“I know that, Marian.  I don’t know what came over me.  I suppose I was jealous, because he had so much more of your attention than I did for so long, but that is no excuse.” Now that he had said it, he realized how true it was.  He had felt jealous of Sir Edward. Right up until his death, he supposed.

When he looked at Marian again, though, he saw a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she continued to advance.  Was she pleased with him for falling into line with her lie so quickly? He didn’t know, but he decided to make the most of it.  He opened his arms to her.

“Please forgive me.  Give me another chance?” he asked in a gentle, pleading tone.

She stepped into his embrace, but rather than simply hugging him, Marian reached up to place a hand on either side of his face, pulling his head down and pressing a kiss to his lips.  Guy felt as though he had been struck by lightning.  Pleasure ignited every nerve, from his scalp to the tips of his toes.  He was too lost in the sensation of Marian’s mouth on his, of having everything that he had so wanted from her for so long, to notice the Sheriff’s growl of disgust. He stomped off, snapping, “You’ll forgive me if I don’t wait for you, Gisborne.”

When she released him, Guy was so stunned his legs could barely hold him up.  He leaned down with the intention of kissing her again, but she turned her head so quickly that his lips caught her ear instead. He glanced up to follow her line of vision and saw the Sheriff’s retreating form.

That brought him back to reality, and his heart sank in his chest.  The kiss had meant absolutely nothing to her; she had only done it to get rid of the Sheriff.  Guy walked after him, trying to ignore the disappointment and rage festering in the pit of his stomach.  When the front door shut in his face, though, he couldn’t stop himself from turning around and barking, “What the hell was that for, Marian?”

Her eyes widened in surprise at his tone.  “I . . . well . . .” she stammered, searching for an answer.  “It worked, Guy.”

He thought back on the bliss he had felt just a moment ago.  It certainly had.

“You kissed me, and all you have to say for yourself is ‘it worked?’” he asked in a cold, deadly tone.

The color rose in her cheeks and her eyes narrowed; he could see that she was becoming angry too.  “I don’t know why you’re so upset,” she spat.  “It won’t happen again.  It was meaningless.”

It was too much for Guy to stand.  In a few quick strides he was standing over her, his eyes boring into hers.  “Oh, I know damn well it was meaningless to you,” he hissed.  “When have my feelings ever meant anything to you except a means to an end?”

The color drained from her face and she stumbled back to get away from him, a hand coming up to cover her belly protectively.

Guy stood up straight, shame overwhelming him suddenly at the fear he saw in her eyes.  He brought a hand up to cover his face and leaned the bridge of his nose against his palm, sighing deeply.  “Damn you, Marian,” he murmured. “Did you ever stop to think of what kissing you might mean to me?”

When he looked at her again, her eyes were wide open with shock.  “But, Guy . . . Allan,” she whispered, realization dawning on her.

He shook his head at her with a wry, joyless smirk.  “What the fuck do you imagine this has to do with Allan?”

She made no reply but continued to stare at him.  She knew now.  He had tried so hard to forget his feelings for her, to focus all his desire on someone who could return it, and she had ruined it all with a single kiss.  And now she knew the truth, in spite of all his efforts.  He could bear her presence no longer.

“I’m going,” he said flatly, stating the obvious as he opened the door and stepped out.


	10. New Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far, I've tried to divide chapters fairly evenly among the three main characters' PoVs. That's about to change. From this point forward, there will more focus on Marian's PoV, although the other characters will still get some chapters of their own. This will not last for the rest of the story, but Marian is about to undergo some development I believe can only be described effectively from her perspective.

Marian found it impossible to eat that morning.  Breakfast was usually the meal she could keep down, and she was so hungry in the morning from having not eaten the night before that skipping it was usually unthinkable.  But she was so anxious after the encounter with Guy and the Sheriff that she was certain to be sick if she put anything in her stomach. She spent the morning pacing in the hall, thinking about what had happened.

How could she have been so stupid? It was clear enough that Guy had only wanted a hug, and that probably would have been enough to convince the Sheriff that their story was true.  What on earth had possessed her to kiss him?

She hadn’t planned it; that was certain. Replaying the scene in her mind, she realized that she hadn’t thought to kiss Guy until she stepped into his arms.  They were playing the role of a loving couple moving past a marital spat, she told herself.  It was a perfectly natural thing for a wife in such a situation to do, and that was why she had done it.

But that wasn’t the whole answer, she had to admit. It wasn’t the first time she had kissed Guy, of course.  That had been when they were pronounced man and wife.  When she thought about it now, that kiss had been almost shockingly gentle, as though Guy feared too much pressure would make her disappear.  Or explode, as was more likely given how she had felt at the time.  She had been outraged by the whole situation: being forced to marry a man she did not want and live in a house that rightfully belonged to the man she did.

Their kiss that morning had been completely different, though. This time, they were working together, for their mutual benefit, both of them with complete awareness of what was going on.  And in spite of the unpleasant surprise of finding the Sheriff in her house first thing in the morning, seeing Guy put himself in danger to protect her had filled her with an emotion she couldn’t quite place.  She almost felt . . . proud of him.  And grateful.  She already felt grateful to him for helping her protect her reputation.  She had simply carried out an impulsive wish to reward him; that was all.

It was his words afterwards that perplexed and distressed her so.  They had forced her to recall something her recent troubles had made her forget completely: her behavior on the last night of the Sheriff’s feast.  Guy had not come back to the room that night, and she had ordered a wagon herself to take her home the next morning.  She had nothing to say in her defense if they did speak again.  She had betrayed his trust in the cruelest way, letting him see that she was attracted to him, and then calling it a “mistake.” As she rode home, she had vowed never to speak of that night to anyone, and to put it from her mind, hoping that Guy would do the same.  Of course, at the time, she thought that she would never be in such intimate proximity with Guy again.

And now she had done it all again; how fickle and heartless he must think her. She sat down to rest, sighing heavily.  Things may have been a bit awkward between her and Guy without Allan there, but they had gotten along well enough.  Well enough to convince her that he had gotten over her mad act with the rope back in June.  Perhaps once he was back with Allan at the castle, he would forget how she had ill-treated him.  Again. They had only planned to stay for a week, and a week was up.  Even if Guy was still attracted to her, it was clear that he loved Allan. He would get over her. She just had to keep her mouth shut about the incident that morning, and hope that Guy would do the same. They only had to get through tonight.

Feeling better, she went about her usual daily activities to distract herself: visiting the cottages in walking distance, talking to Edith about the plans for the evening meal, going through her winter clothes.  It was taxing, trying to envision how they would need to be altered for the size she would be by then.  It was growing dark outside, and she had just gone into the kitchen to check on dinner, when Allan opened the door and stepped brusquely in.

“Marian,” he called as soon as he saw her.  “What happened this morning?”

Her blood turned cold, and her mind began to race, trying to seize on the least suspicious answer.  Allan’s agitation was evident; he stood with his hands on his hips, his mouth forming a thin, tight line as he stared at her, waiting for her answer.  But at least if he was asking her, it meant that Guy hadn’t told him.  She decided to plead ignorance.

“What are you talking about, Allan?”

“Guy.  He’s been acting funny all day.  He seemed fine when I left after dinner last night, but he’s been distracted and irritable.  He nearly fell off his horse in front of the sheriff this morning, and since then I’ve had to rescue so many farmers from his temper I’ve lost count.”

Marian tried to lighten the mood.  “Sounds like typical Guy of Gisborne behavior, if you ask me.  Why should that concern you?”

Allan narrowed his eyes at her.  “Really? How many of your servants has he tried to kill this week?” he snapped. “I’ve seen him every day for the past year, Marian. I know when he’s not himself.  Now, what did you say to him?”

Her back stiffened with indignation in spite of herself.  “Why are you assuming this is my fault, Allan? Just because I’ve seen him since you have doesn’t mean I’m responsible for his state of mind! I didn’t say anything to him!”

The stood for a moment glaring at each other, each waiting for the other to speak. Allan looked away first, and began to pace back and forth on the rug, lifting a hand to rub at the corners of his mouth in his distraction.  Marian watched him, struggling to contain her anxiety.  She had often wondered if Guy had told Allan what she did at the castle, and the fact that he was immediately suspicious of her for no apparent reason seemed to reinforce that possibility. At long last, he turned to face her again.

“I’m just worried about him, Marian.  Maybe it’s not your fault, but I thought you might know more about it than I do.”

Marian relaxed and exhaled.  Allan didn’t know.  “He didn’t tell you anything?” she asked.

Allan shook his head.  “The men in his private guard may be loyal, but if you think they’re discreet you’ve got another thought coming.  Guy wouldn’t tell me what was bothering him in front of them.”

“Well, it might be that the Sheriff came to see us this morning.”

“Oh shit,” Allan exclaimed, his eyebrows shooting up.  “What did he want?”

“I think he wanted to find out why Guy is staying with me now after all this time.  He knows we didn’t sleep together last night.”

Allan began to pace again, trying to process what Marian had told him.  “I could tell he was suspicious when he came to see me at the castle.  I know he thinks you’re in cahoots with Robin.  And if he knows now that you’re not sleeping with Guy . . . this is bad, Marian! How did you get rid of him?”

Marian cursed inwardly.  Why did he have to ask her that? “Guy told him that we had a row and . . . he seemed to believe it.”

“Well, I certainly hope he did! Because if he knows you’re with Robin, and he thinks we know too, then all our lives are at stake.  You’ve called him mad before, but he’s getting more paranoid all the time.  He wanted to talk to Guy alone; that’s why I’m here before him.”

Marian’s eyes widened with horror. She was just about to ask what the Sheriff wanted with Guy, when she heard the door open again and turned to see Guy himself enter. She and Allan called to him at the same time, and she took several steps towards him before she remembered.  For her to touch him again was probably the last thing he wanted.

“Are you alright, Giz?” Allan asked anxiously. “Marian told me the Sheriff came to see you this morning.”

Guy heaved a deep sigh.  “I’m fine, Allan.  I could use a drink, though.”

Wanting to make herself useful, Marian headed in the direction of the table where a serving maid had already sat out the wine, retrieving it and Guy’s goblet.  When she returned, she found Guy and Allan sitting by the fire.  Guy got up to give her his chair, silencing her protests.

“No, Marian.  I’d rather have you both sitting down for this,” he said, and filled his goblet, taking a deep gulp from it.

That didn’t bode well, Marian thought as she all but collapsed into her chair.  She leaned forward, crossing her arms in anticipation.  Glancing at Allan, she could see the same worry she felt written all over his face.

“This is the problem,” Guy began, looking at each of them in turn. “The Sheriff is convinced that Marian is in league with Robin Hood.  Nothing I could say to him would make him believe otherwise.  He told me that he wants me to come back to the castle.”

“Is that all?” Allan asked, sounding relieved.  “That’s what we’d already planned to do.”

“I know that,” Guy replied with a light edge of impatience in his tone.  “But it’s a little different now.”

Then he glanced at Marian, biting his lip nervously.

“He told me to come back, after he tried to convince me that Marian is just using me for protection until Hood gets back from wherever he is.  Which at least tells us that he doesn’t suspect where he is.”

“Well that’s good,” Marian exclaimed.

Guy frowned at her.  “You may not think it’s so good when you hear what I have to propose.”  He looked back at Allan.

“If we go back to the castle after this, it will look like the Sheriff has convinced me.  It will, more or less, be admitting the truth.  She is just using us until he gets back.”

Marian opened her mouth to protest.  Self-defense was almost second nature with her when it came to Guy.  But she stopped herself just in time; she had to admit there was nothing about what he had said that wasn’t true.

“So, what’s your plan?” Allan asked solemnly, as if he already had some idea of what is was.

Guy sighed again and took a deep drink. Then he looked at Marian again. “I think it would be best . . . if I stay here for a while longer.  The Sheriff wants proof that you’re a traitor, but he’s not particular about the form that ‘proof’ takes.  If the truth of your pregnancy comes out, and there’s any reason to believe it might not be mine, he might jump to conclusions.  But if I stay here, his thinking the baby is Hood’s will just look paranoid, and I think he wants to avoid that.”

Marian nodded in agreement.  “And after the news comes out?”

Guy scoffed and looked away from her.  “Then we’ll have another fake row, and I’ll move back to the castle.”

Marian felt her insides twist with embarrassment.  She shot a quick glance at Allan and saw with relief that he was looking at Guy.

“Do you want me to stay with you?” he asked quietly.

Guy gave him a little smile.  “You’re welcome to stay in the downstairs bedroom, Allan, but . . . that’s the other thing.”

He looked at Marian and opened his mouth to speak, but then stopped as though thinking the better of it.  Then he drained the rest of his glass of wine.  Sitting it down on the table, he turned to Marian and said, falteringly.  “I know you aren’t going to like this . . . I don’t like it much myself . . . but if we really want to be safe.”

She could hardly stand the anticipation.  “Go on, Guy,” she interjected, a bit tersely.

“I think I should sleep upstairs with you.”

Marian felt a leaded weight sink in her stomach.  No, she didn’t like it at all.

“Why?”

Guy looked down, a pink blush creeping into his cheeks.  He shot a brief glance at the wine bottle as though considering helping himself to more, but then he seemed to find his courage without it. 

“Because, Marian, the Sheriff has already caught me sleeping alone down here once.  And he came without any warning at all. He’s going to be watching this house closely, through his spies if not so directly again.  We can’t be too careful.”

She made no reply for several seconds, too deep in thought to form words.  She had shared a bed with Guy before, but the idea of sleeping with anyone in her current state was repellent.  She was just getting used to sleeping on her side or back; her breasts had grown too tender and sore for her preferred position on her stomach, and she changed positions constantly during the night.  And there was the matter of her easily upset stomach.  As an only child, she had been used to privacy all her life, and the idea of someone being near while she was vomiting was almost enough to turn her stomach on the spot.

“I promise not to bother you,” she heard Guy say softly.

When she glanced up at him, she saw that his blush had deepened and his was looking at his feet forlornly.  He still thought he was the problem, even after what had happened before.  She felt a stab of remorse, mingled with sympathy for him.

“I’m not worried you’ll bother me, Guy,” she said gently, standing up and stepping towards him.  “It’s just . . . you know I get nauseous at night.”

Guy gave her a little smile, reassured.  “If you think I’m not used to people throwing up around me, Marian, then you know nothing of knights and their drinking habits.”

Feeling relieved, she glanced down at Allan again.  That killed the feeling quickly.  He was glaring at her so hard she almost shivered.  He seemed to like this idea less than either of them, and she briefly wondered anew whether he was aware of what had happened the last time she and Guy slept together.

When he realized he’d been caught, he blinked and looked at Guy again.

“So you want to start tonight?”

He nodded.  “I think that would be best.”

Allan pushed himself up and took the wine bottle in his hand.  “Alright then, now we’ve got that settled, let’s go have dinner. I’m starving.”  He turned towards the dining hall and she and Guy made to follow him.  “Just so you know, I will be sleeping downstairs, Guy, in case you need me,” he said over his shoulder.  Marian thought she saw him glance, ever so briefly, in her direction.

* * *

She ate with a healthy appetite, but focused mostly on the bread.  She had given up meat almost entirely as the game Edith prepared seemed invariably to make her sick.  Still, she hoped Guy truly did know what he was getting himself into.

Allan was more subdued than usual at dinner, but he engaged in their conversation, which was mostly focused on keeping the Sheriff from finding out any more about their situation.  At least he wasn’t giving her any more dirty looks.  If being kind to Guy wasn’t reason enough for its own sake, staying on Allan’s good side was all the inducement she needed.  She would almost rather rile the Sheriff where Guy was concerned.

When they were ready to retire for the night, she asked Guy to give her a few minutes to change for bed before he came up.  It would also give him a chance to say a proper goodnight to Allan without worrying about her scrutiny, she thought.

She was sitting at the mirror in her gown and robe, combing out her hair when Guy opened the door and entered, carrying two pillows in his hand.  She noticed with relief that he was already dressed for bed. Her curiosity was piqued, though. “What are those for?”

Guy looked from the pillows in his hand to the bed and gestured towards it. “These are to form a barricade down the middle.  You can have your side, and I can have mine.  What do you think?” he asked in a serious tone.

Marian found herself struggling not to smile.  Of all the construction projects Guy had been involved in, she suspected this was the first to involve pillows as building materials. Then something else occurred to her.

“Guy, did you steal Allan’s pillow?”

His expression softened.  “No, he . . . he insisted that I take it.  This was his idea.  Do you think it will work?”

She considered for a moment.  “I think it will work better than you binding your wrists together.”

Guy sighed and sat on the bed. “Since you mention that, Marian, there is something we need to talk about.

She turned back to her mirror and continued combing.  If she knew what was coming, she didn’t want to be looking at him when he said it.  She heard him sigh again and saw a flash of movement in the mirror as he leaned forward and rubbed his hand over his face.

“I’m sorry I shouted at you this morning,” he said to her back.  “Marian . . . I don’t want to still feel this way about you.  I know you’ve made your choice.  But when you touch me” . . . he lowered his voice as though worried about being overheard, though they were quite alone. “Or kiss me . . . it reminds me of how much I . . . wanted you to choose me instead . . . And it hurts.”

He said the last part so softly she could barely hear him, but she felt his full meaning.  She wanted to sink into the floor; she felt so ashamed of herself.  How could she not suspect that he felt that way?  Even if his feelings had changed completely, it was wrong of her to throw his past desire for her in his face like that.

“I’m sorry too, Guy,” she said, getting up to go and sit on the side of the bed opposite him. “I appreciate everything you and Allan are doing for me.  And I . . . appreciate that you didn’t tell him about what I did today. I . . . I just don’t always think things through.  I didn’t mean to hurt you, though.  I hope you believe that.”

He gave her a shy little smile in return.  Breaking eye contact and directing his attention to the bed again, he handed her a pillow.

“Alright then, Marian.  Let’s build this barricade.”


	11. Braiding

The next morning, Marian found herself looking at Guy while they were having breakfast.  He was quiet, not eating himself, but he seemed pleased to see her with such a good appetite.  After going without eating for much of the previous day, she was absolutely ravenous.  And she was surprised at how well she had slept.  While she remembered waking up in the middle of the night, the details were foggy.  She had gone right back to sleep, and slept deeply. When she had woken up, she was far more interested in filling her belly than in remembering what had happened the night before.

She could see that Guy had not been so lucky; he was still drowsy and had dark circles under his eyes.  Had she moved too much last night and kept him awake? She was just about to ask how he had slept when Ruth, Edith’s daughter, entered with a plate of bread warm from the oven.  Marian knew it must have taken a lot of encouragement on her mother’s part for the shy girl to venture out of the kitchen while Guy was present, so she gave her a warm smile and asked how she was.  When she looked up to answer her, the little smile on her face disappeared to be replaced by wide open eyes and a mouth gaping in alarm.

“Oh . . . my lady! What has happened to your hair?” she cried.

Marian felt alarmed herself.  Had it fallen out? Turned white? She had heard of such things, but if trauma was what did that to a person, it surely would have happened to her before now.  Reflexively, she reached up to touch her head.

She sighed with relief upon realizing that it was still there, but it had all been pulled into a messy knot on one side of her head with several pieces sticking out. As she worked to untangle it, she tried to calm Ruth down.

“It’s fine . . . it’s just that I . . . I . . . well . . . I don’t know how it got like this,” she admitted with some embarrassment.

“My lady, it . . . it looks like rats have been nesting in your hair!”

They were both startled by a deep voice from the other side of the table saying.  “Rats is a bit harsh, child.  It was pitch dark, and I’m a little out of practice.”

Ruth and Marian both turned to stare at Guy, whose cheeks darkened a bit at the sudden attention.  Marian looked again at Ruth, who had not spoken to Guy at least since his return to Locksley, that she knew of, and possibly not even before.  She continued to stare at him, her grey eyes wide with shock.  She opened and shut her mouth several times before saying, “My lord . . . you . . . you did this?”

Marian tried to stop herself from laughing at the gobsmacked girl, but when she looked at Guy again she could not restrain the cackle that burst from her throat.

He was blushing all the way to the tips of his ears, his mouth shut tight as though he was afraid words would escape from it against his will.  He refused to look at either of them. Marian knew laughing at him would only make him feel worse, but she couldn’t stop herself.  She doubled over with her head on the table and laughed until her sides ached.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying this, Marian,” Guy finally said, taking a sip from his ale.

After Ruth had all but run back to the kitchen, and Marian had calmed down, she asked Guy what he _had_ done.

“Well . . .” he began falteringly, some humiliation still lingering, “I woke up last night when you were . . . when you were throwing up. You seemed to be struggling . . . with your hair. So . . . I just held it back while you . . . finished.”

Then he stopped speaking, and Marian waited several seconds for him to answer her question before urging him on. “Throwing up didn’t tie my hair in a knot, Guy.”

He glanced at her briefly with a pleading expression on his face, but she leaned forward on her elbows expectantly.  Guy looked away and began again.

“No.  I wanted to keep your hair back in case you were ill again . . . so I . . . tried to braid it back but I didn’t have anything to make it stay . . . so I . . . may have tied your hair . . . with you hair.  Too tight.

All the while Guy had been speaking, Marian had been fiddling with her hair, and he had been watching intently, grave concern tightening every feature. By the time he had finished, though, she had worked it free, and it finally fell down in waves around her shoulders.  He exhaled audibly with relief.

Marian smiled at him.  Her biggest worry had been how Guy would react to her being sick, and he had done far better than she had dared imagine.  Perhaps what he said about spending time around drunken knights had prepared him for sleeping next to a woman in the first months of her pregnancy.

She doubted he had ever braided their hair, though.

* * *

When Allan heard the story, he made no attempts to stop himself from guffawing at Guy, loud and long.

“I’ll never live this down now, will I?” Guy asked in mock indignation.  Marian felt relieved.  She had glanced at Guy to check for signs of embarrassment or hesitation before telling Allan the story, but he had only shrugged.

“No, I wouldn’t count on it, Giz.  It’s just too good.  I only wish I had been there.”

“Well, no one made you leave at the crack of dawn this morning.”

Marian listened as Allan explained that he had left early because for him and Guy to arrive at the same time implied that they had come together, which implied they had done other things together as well.  It made sense, but what was more, it assured her that Allan was not as uncomfortable with her sleeping with Guy as she feared he might be.

“How do you even know how to braid?” Allan asked, unable to let the subject go so quickly.

Guy froze and made a tiny turn in Marian’s direction, as if checking to see if she was listening. “I . . . don’t know.  I guess I just picked it up somewhere.”

Allan smirked and shook his head.  “You don’t just pick up a talent that you have no use for.”

“Considering how long it took Marian to untangle her hair, I’m not certain a ‘talent’ is what I would call it.”

“Come on, Guy.  Whose hair did you braid?”

Guy shot a look at Marian that made her nervous, but also very curious.  Clearly, there had been someone else, but he didn’t want her to know.  Was he ashamed?  Did he think she might be jealous? Would she be jealous? It was a silly question, yet she couldn’t quite dismiss it.  One thing was certain, though.  She was going to get to the bottom of this.

“I suppose I do braid my mare’s mane sometimes,” Guy finally admitted in answer to Allan’s question, and that seemed to satisfy him.

“Oh, is that what you’re doing when I look at you while the Sheriff is making his intimidation speeches? I thought you were just fiddling with your gloves to stop from falling asleep.”

As they continued to talk about the Sheriff, Marian let her mind wonder.  Had it been Annie, the mother of his son, whose hair Guy had braided?  She had tried to block out that memory.  If she was going to trust this man to  protect her, it would not help her peace of mind to remember the woman whose trust he had betrayed so horribly.  Yet it helped explain some of his behavior the previous night.  Had he perhaps slept with a pregnant woman before?

* * *

That night, after Allan had gone back to the castle, Guy came up to find Marian seated on the bed next to the pile of pillows, her needle and thread in hand.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She looked up at him, an eyebrow quirked.  “I’m fortifying our barricade.” That morning, she had found pillows strewn all over the bed.  They had done their job of keeping her and Guy apart, mostly, but she knew there had to be a better way.

“There are a lot more pillows than we had last night,” he noticed.

She replied with a nod.  “Yes.  I sent to Knighton for some more.  No one is there to use them now. I’m stitching them together so they won’t all fall off the bed during the night.”

“That’s clever,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a brief smile. Then he paused for a moment, sitting on the opposite side of the bed. “Do you miss it?” he asked.

“What, Knighton?”

He nodded. Marian bit her lip thoughtfully as she rolled out the newly stitched wall of pillows down the center of the bed.

“I suppose I do sometimes, but I’m not ready to go back.”

“Oh, I’m trying to send you back,” Guy reassured her.  “I just meant . . . if you wanted to visit, that could be arranged.”

She smiled, touched.  “Thank you, Guy. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He was just stretching out on his side of the barricade when she spoke again.

“Guy, I . . . was wondering . . .” she broke off.

He rolled onto his back to look up at her.  “Yes?”

“I wondered . . . would you braid my hair again?”

He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and chuckled dryly.

“Are you sure you want to look rat-infested again?”

“Oh come on, Guy,” she said playfully, reaching to slap his shoulder and stopping herself just in time. “You’re not going to remember that and hold it against the poor girl, are you?”

“No . . . I guess I can try, if you like.”

Marian grinned at him and got up to retrieve her comb.  Handing it to him, she sat on her side of the bed with her back turned.  She felt a pleasant tingling at the back of her neck as he combed his fingers gently through her hair.  He separated it into three sections, laying two over her shoulders while he worked on combing out the third.  She couldn’t quite suppress a little shiver when his hand brushed against the sensitive spot where her neck and shoulder met.  He froze for a moment, considering, before beginning to slide the comb through her hair.  She had already combed through it after changing for bed, so he met with little resistance.  Gradually, she began to relax, and felt him relax as well.  This was just what she had been waiting for.

“Guy, when you told Allan that you had just braided your horse’s hair . . . that’s not your only experience with braiding, is it?”

He stopped what he was doing, very nearly dropping the comb.  Then he tried to cover up the action by putting the just combed section over her shoulder and picking up another one.  No reply came, but Marian would not be put off so easily.

“A horse’s mane and a woman’s hair are very different, Guy.  You seem to know what you’re doing.”

He was combing faster and with less ease.  When he tugged on a hidden tangle near the nape of her neck, she gave a little cry of discomfort.

“Ah, I’m sorry!” Guy gasped.  She felt his fingers trembling as he worked to pull the knot apart with his fingers.  Once he had finished, he pulled the three pieces together in his hands to braid them.  Marian knew that she was running out of time.

“Was it Annie’s,” she blurted, subtlety abandoned.

He removed his hands from her hair completely and sighed.  She turned around and saw him looking down and the bed, his hands on his thighs.

“I thought you had forgotten about her,” he muttered.

Marian felt a momentary flash of indignation.  Of course he wanted her to forget, but did he really think what he had done was so insignificant?

“What would make you think I’d forget about her?”

He shifted, uncomfortable under her scrutiny.  “I didn’t think you’d have invited me here, or let me stay if you remembered.”

Her anger faded, replaced by a pang of sympathy.  She had known for a long time that there was more to Guy than the cruel man who had left his infant son in the woods, and it made her sad that he didn’t realize that. She turned around and threw her hair back down her back, indicating that he should finish.  Once his hands were in her hair again, she said,  “I wasn’t thinking about her until today, though.  I remembered how well you handled by being sick last night, and it occurred to me that you might have been in that situation with her.”

Guy got to the end of her hair and reached for the piece of ribbon she had placed next to her. Once he had secured he end of the braid, he sat back.

“You’re not wrong,” he admitted.  “She did sleep with me through most of her pregnancy.  She . . . didn’t get sick at night that I remember, but she was uncomfortable.  I remember her moving around a lot, like you do.  I knew to expect that.”

She turned to look at him.  He was still looking away from her, but his expression seemed less worried and more reflective.  Thinking he was finished speaking, she was about to blow out the candle when he added, “I did care about her, Marian.  I just didn’t want to marry her . . . or be a father.  I know it doesn’t matter now, but I did try to be kind to her.”

Marian sighed and lay down on her side, facing him.  “It does matter, Guy.  It doesn’t make what you did with the baby alright; nothing can do that.  But it matters.  She did trust you.  There must have been a reason for that.”

He gave a little smile before getting up to blow out the candle.  She heard his footsteps on the floor as he walked around the bed and felt the covers shift as he climbed in.

“To answer your question, though, it wasn’t her hair that I braided.”

Marians sat up slightly, looking at him in the darkness.  She had thought that mystery solved.

“It was my sister’s.”

She was intrigued.  She _had_ forgotten that Guy had a sister; or perhaps she had simply never known it.

“That seems . . . an odd thing for a brother to do.  Didn’t she have a maid to do that? Or your mother?”

Guy heaved a deep sigh.  “No, at the time she had neither, so she had to make do with me.”

Marian felt her mind racing with a thousand questions, but before she could give voice to any of them, he said, “But that’s a story for another time.  Goodnight, Marian.”

“Goodnight,” she replied, and lay her head on the pillow.  But she was a long time falling asleep that night.

 


	12. The Sheriff's Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an advance warning that the rating for this fic is going to change to Explicit within the next couple of chapters. Not every chapter will justify this rating, but if descriptions of sex acts are something you want to avoid, just check the author notes at the beginning of each chapter. I will let you know which chapters contain explicit material, or what parts of chapters you might want to avoid.

Allan felt thoughtful as he made his ride alone to the castle that morning.  He was getting used to arriving at the castle without Guy, especially now that the Sheriff was no longer greeting him with a terse “Where’s Gisborne?” every morning.  It had been a month since Guy had moved back to Locksley, and three weeks since he had started sleeping with Marian.

He was still surprised at how well that arrangement worked.  The first night he half expected Guy to come to him again, distressed by Marian’s inconsistent and thoughtless treatment, but that hadn’t happened. It didn’t happen the next night, or the night after that either.  In fact, he had been surprised at how much more relaxed Guy was around Marian.  They could talk about their past experiences without tension.  To his amazement, they could even talk about Robin.

There were some drawbacks in their situation, though. He did miss waking up next to Guy.  Marian had been considerate of them; he was grateful for that. In the evenings after dinner, she always followed her announcement that she was going bed with, “I’ll see you in a few minutes, Guy” or “I’m exhausted, Guy.  I’ll probably be asleep when you come up.” Allan had seen that it was a code, far more quickly than Guy had, he suspected.  “In a few minutes” meant, “I’ll be waiting for you.  Give Allan a goodnight kiss and come up.”  “I’ll be asleep” meant there was time for considerably more than a kiss.

On the one hand, he was glad that she understood the nature of their relationship and did not judge them for it.  On the other, it felt as though part of that relationship was dictated by her whim.  Guy was not much help; he was far too worried about disappointing Marian.  Their budding friendship was precious to him, and while that usually pleased Allan, sometimes it was downright annoying. If Marian suggested “come up soon,” up he went, however much Allan tried to tempt him to stay.

Guy’s sex drive was undiminished, but it had taken to presenting itself in less than ideal situations after nights when Marian decided she needed him.  If they were inspecting an empty cottage, for example, Allan sometimes found Guy pressing up behind him, kissing his neck, and then fiddling with the laces on his trousers, even though their men were waiting just outside.  It was thrilling, yes, but also intimidating.  However skillful Guy was, it wasn’t easy to get lost in pleasure with one eye fixed on the door.

After a couple of weeks of that, Allan had brought it up with Marian in the only way he knew how.

“Listen, Marian. I appreciate what you’re doing, but let _me_ decide when Guy comes to my bed first, alright?”

She had blushed as she apologized, but he suspected he had done right to approach her before Guy arrived.  For someone who liked having sex so much, discussing it outside the bedroom certainly flustered him. By the time he arrived, they had a new plan.  If Allan announced that _he_ was tired after dinner, Marian would follow a few minutes later with the comment that she, too, expected to fall asleep immediately, and would tend to her hair herself.

And of course, there were some nights Allan still spent in Guy’s old room at the castle for the sake of deceiving the Sheriff.  He hated those nights.  Although summer’s warmth still clung to the woods and fields, none of it ever seemed to make its way into the castle.  He spend his nights there curled into a ball in the center of the bed, shivering, hoping Marian would be ready to announce her pregnancy soon.

The only thing that did seem to warm there had been the Sheriff’s regard for him.  While he had tired of his game of giving both Guy and Allan the same job to do separately, he never missed an opportunity to point out that Allan had been just as efficient with far less experience.  “Or just as inefficient, given that all my tactics are his,” Allan had thought to himself, but he kept his mouth shut.  He had learned that from Guy too.  At the same time, he was far more cautious in how he presented the results of his activities at the end of the day.  While Guy simply told the truth, Allan could embellish, understate, or even lie outright.  It soon became clear to him that Vaisey was not going to check up on any of these details.  He sometimes wondered if he even cared about what the peasants were doing or what was being done to them; he was preoccupied with those who were absent: Robin, King Richard, and Winchester.

As he entered Vaisey’s chambers that morning, he found him smiling to himself as though he had constructed a particularly ingenious scheme.  He was usually chipper when Allan arrived, obviously a morning person, and he most often greeted him with a question about Guy’s well-being and an insult to Marian.  Allan always had an indifferent response prepared.  If the Sheriff was sullen about her, he was glad; it meant he believed the lie they had all sacrificed so much to perpetuate. This morning, though, he caught him by surprise.

“Allan,” he said without looking at him, still smiling, “why are you with Gisborne?”

Taken aback. Allan paused to think, and Vaisey let him.  Why _was_ he with Guy? No one had ever asked him that.  Marian had been content to mind her own business, and Robin had never made any reference to their relationship except to call him “pet” once or twice as an inside joke.  Initially, it had just been lust, but over time it had grown into something much deeper and more essential to both of them.  But he knew the Sheriff didn’t want or need to hear that.

“Come on Allan,” he said, interrupting his thoughts.  “I know about Hood throwing you out of the forest, but you could have just left Nottinghamshire.  You’d been arrested for poaching when we first met, I believe, and it’s been reported that you’re a pickpocket as well.  Poachers and pickpockets thrive all over this country.  Do you have a wife and children I don’t know about?”

“No, my lord.”

“Are your parents still living? Any siblings besides that brother?”

Allan considered.  There had been six children, but only he, Tom, and their sister Lizzy had survived to adulthood.  He didn’t know what had become of her.

“No, my lord.  I’m all that’s left.”

“Excellent!” he cried jubilantly.  “Now, answer my question.”

From the Sheriff’s expectant grin, Allan could see that he had a specific response in mind.  And he thought he knew what that was.

“Well . . . I guess it’s because . . . I guess I wanted to be more than just a poacher and a pickpocket all my life.  I took up with Guy because he has power, and I felt he owed me something.  The rest of it is . . . just physical.”

“Ah! Just as I thought!” Vaisey replied, almost dancing with glee.  Then he calmed down, clasping his hands behind his back.

“I have news for you, Allan.  I have no duties for you today.  Instead, you’ll be packing whatever possessions you have.”

Allan felt his heart sink.  “Why, where am I going, my lord?”

“Oh, not far,” Vaisey chirped.  “Only to Knighton Hall.  I’ve decided to give it to you!”

“You . . . what?” Allan gasped, his mouth hanging open with shock.  “Why would you give me Knighton Hall?” “When it’s not yours give,” crossed his mind, but remained unsaid.

The smile faded from Vaisey’s face, and Allan feared his feelings had been too apparent.  But when he spoke again, it was with a somber tone.

“I’m beginning to realize that I may have made a mistake with Gisborne.  He seemed to have all the right qualities: birth, education, hunger, rage, ruthlessness . . . all the things that make a good captain.  But I overlooked one vital thing.  I thought that by choosing a whore I would be safe from that, but I was wrong.  His asinine feelings for that woman are very near to ruining all the work I put into him.  I thought he had gotten over her when he took you into his bed, but . . . Well, you know where he is now.”

Allan thought of Guy, who was probably now watching Marian eat breakfast before riding to the castle himself, and how deathly afraid he would be if he overheard any of this conversation.

“I’m sure Guy is loyal to you, my lord,” he said feebly.

Vaisey sneered at him.  “Are you? Well, you’re going to find out for certain.”

Allan glanced at him, eyebrows raised.

He explained.  “You see, Allan, I put too much value on reading and writing and not enough on shrewdness and self-control.  You may be an illiterate peasant, but you have stealth and cunning, which Gisborne is sorely lacking.  And . . . you’re not so interested in the lepers, are you?”

Allan didn’t hesitate to answer this time; he knew what was required. “No.”

“I thought not.  Well, don’t stand there,” he said dismissively.  “Go and tell the love birds the good news.”

* * *

Allan met Guy on his way back, and was so deep in thought that when the other man called his name he nearly fell off his horse in surprise.

“What are doing, Allan?”

“I . . . I have news.  From the Sheriff.  He wanted me to tell you and Marian.”

Guy brought his horse to a stop, the color draining from his face.  “Well? What is it?” he asked impatiently.

“Umm . . . he said to tell you together.  Come one, Guy,” Allan said as he urged his horse into a canter.  A few seconds later, he heard the quick hoof beats of Guy’s horse coming behind him.  He knew he would be angry with him for tiring their horses needlessly when he learned his message was not an emergency, but it was well worth it if it gave him time to collect his thoughts.  He may not like the bay gelding Guy gave him the use of, but he had to admit he was fast.  He was the only means by which he would ever be faster than Guy, and he intended to make the most of it.

* * *

“He did what?” Marian cried when he told her.  She got up and walked towards Allan.  “The Sheriff has given Knighton . . . to you?”

“I’m afraid so,” Allan replied nervously, gazing down at the rug.  “Are you . . . are you mad?”

Marian scoffed and turned, pacing the rug.  “Not at you, Allan.  I know you didn’t ask for it.  But . . . who does that man think he is? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.  He took my father’s job while he was alive.  Why would he hesitate to take his home now that he’s dead?”

“Marian, please” Guy said softly, stepping towards her, “don’t let this upset you.  It won’t do any good.”

She rounded on him, snapping, “It’s not upsetting me . . . _he_ is! At least when the Sheriff gave you this place, Robin was gone.  He was ignorant of it until he came back; he would never have tried it if Robin had been here.  For me . . . it’s happening right in front of me! And there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Guy stopped before he reached her, holding his hands up defensively.

“I know that Marian . . . but this is different in another way too.  A better way.” He looked at Allan beseechingly. “He’s not giving it to someone who’s been away for fifteen years, who you don’t know anymore . . . it’s Allan.  You know you can trust him.”

Marian shrugged and sat down, somewhat appeased.  “That’s true,” she said with a sigh.  “But why do you think he gave it to you, Allan?”

He felt himself beginning to sweat.  He expected the question, but he still didn’t know how to answer it.  Guy had said he was trustworthy, but there had been things in that conversation he just couldn’t say yet.  Not in front of Guy.

“Honestly, I think he just wants me to spy on you.  Fill him in on all the details of the conspiracy you and Robin are hatching.”

Marian gave a wry smile.  “If only that was what he and I were hatching.”

Allan wasn’t sure how to react to that.  He had seen enough of the hardships pregnancy brought on a woman from watching his own mother, but surely that was what women expected.  Sometimes he didn’t know if Marian wanted this child or not.

Realizing that he wasn’t going to reply, she changed the subject.  “Well, I suppose we must get you ready for Knighton . . . and Knighton ready for you!  Guy, do you remember saying you could arrange for a wagon to take me for a visit?”

He nodded.

“I think the time has come. I’d like to go tomorrow.”

* * *

It hadn’t taken Allan long to pack at Locksley, and he had chosen to ride back to the castle and spend his final night or two there.  He really didn’t have many possessions; the Sheriff had been right about that. But once he was nestled in the bed and getting ready to fall asleep, he found himself beginning to look forward to the move.  He found the idea of servants a bit off-putting; he knew they would look down on him for his background.  His parents, who were farmers, would never have thought one of their children could aspire to _be_ a servant, much less the lord of the manor.  He did like the idea of having his own bed, though.  One he could pile with enough blankets to keep him warm at night, in a room that had to be less drafty than the one at the castle.  More importantly, if he could lure Guy into spending a night or two there, he could have him all to himself again.  It suddenly occurred to him that once Marian’s pregnancy was known, he and Guy would finally get to be completely alone together at night for the first time: no guards at the door to worry about overhearing.  It was a thought that brightened even the gloom of the castle chamber.   



	13. Goat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rating will change for the next chapter. There is a very brief scene involving sex near the end of this chapter, but I would not call it explicit. It is heard rather than seen

In spite of taking the usual precautions at dinner, eating only bread and vegetables and staying too far away from the game the men were eating to even smell it, Marian found herself nauseous that night. And she was not happy about it.

‘What? What did I do this time?” she asked through gritted teeth when she finally stopped heaving.  “Damn you, stomach.  Do you only want rose petals and raspberries now?”

“Shhh.  Relax, Marian,” Guy said as he rubbed her back soothingly.  “You’re probably just still worked up from this morning.”

She flopped down on her back with a sigh of frustration. “I hate this, Guy.”

The bed shifted as he lay down on the other side of the wall of pillows.  “You’ll have to be a little more specific.  Do you mean losing Knighton?”

“I mean being pregnant,” she replied immediately.  From Guy’s complete silence, she could tell that he was shocked.

“You . . . you don’t want . . .?”

“I want the baby,” she interrupted hastily.  “I just . . . I’ve been throwing up for two months, Guy.  Two months!”

“Well not . . . constantly,” he ventured in a timid voice.  Marian was almost amused by how anxious he got when she was angry, even when it was obviously not directed at him.

“Almost! It’s been almost every night, anyway. I’ve never been sick this much before.  Ever in my life.  Even when I got . . . when my horse threw me before our wedding and I took so long to recover I could eat!”

“But, it will get better, right? Isn’t that what Matilda told you?”

The mention of the midwife’s name made Marian smile, glad the darkness of the bedroom would conceal her features.  He was usually out when Matilda came to call on her, and she never had a civil word to say to or about him.  But everything Marian repeated from their conversation, he committed to memory.

“The sickness will pass . . . before I swell up like I’ve swallowed a pumpkin.  There’s already so much I can’t do.  I won’t even be able to embroider soon!” She ended with a wry laugh, recalling Robin’s words to her so long ago.  She should “stay home with her embroidery.” Well, he finally had what he wanted, though he wasn’t around to enjoy it.

“How could he leave me like this?” she asked herself quietly.

Guy sighed, reminding her of his presence.

“He didn’t know, Marian.  He . . . I don’t think he would have left if he had.”

She turned to him, surprised and intrigued.  “Oh, you think not?” she asked suspiciously.

The bed moved again as he shifted with discomfort.  “Well, if he loves you as much as . . . as much as he says he does, I don’t think he could.” Seeming eager to change the subject, he went on. “And if you had gone with him, just think of how much worse you would feel being jostled up and down on a boat.”

She hadn’t thought of that.  “You made a fair point,” she admitted. “I never thought I’d hear you defend Robin, though.”

At that, Guy rolled over in the bed, turning his back to her.  “Well, if _I_ insulted him, you’d defend him, and then we’d never get to sleep. We have a busy day tomorrow, Marian.  You to Knighton and me . . . shopping.”

That piqued her interest.  Robin forgotten for the moment, she asked, “shopping for what?”

Guy yawned.  “Wait until tomorrow, and you’ll see.”

“Come on,” she cooed, “you’ve forgotten that I do not like surprises.”

“That’s alright,” he replied, his voice muffled by his pillow.  “It’s not for you; it’s for Allan.  Goodnight, Marian.”

She thought a moment, and a smile spread across her face.

“You’re buying him a horse!” she gasped.

“Goodnight, Marian!”

* * *

The next morning, the wagon Guy had promised arrived to convey Marian to Knighton.  The servants were surprised, but delighted to see her, and she had nearly endless questions to answer.  She reassured them that she was as well and happy as could be expected, insisting to herself that there was not too much deceit in that. When she told them about their new master who would be arriving soon, the older servants were aghast.  She did her best to convince them that Allan was still loyal to Robin, and had been spying for him at the castle, but she could see that they still doubted.  It was going to be even harder to convince them to trust the reformed traitor than she thought.  Still, her steward, Adams, believed he could have the house ready for him to move in within two days’ time.  Satisfied with that answer, she bid a long, fond farewell to everyone, and rode back to Locksley.

When she arrived, she found Guy in the first place she looked, standing in front of the stable.

“Oh . . . that is a small horse,” she observed.  The sound of her voice startled Guy, who had been looking over the animal, patting its neck.

“Well” . . . he said, still a bit flustered, “he’s for Allan.”

Marian wasn’t sure if he was embarrassed by the horse or by the fact that she had caught him being affectionate with it.  To take the pressure off, she stood by his side, not looking at the horse rather than him.  At just under fifteen hands, the chestnut stallion was significantly shorter than both of Guy’s other horses. Marian barely had to raise her shoulder to run her hand down his back. When she did so, the horse turned its head to nuzzle at her side.

She gasped. “Oh! You’re a friendly one, aren’t you?”

In a sideways glance she saw Guy roll his eyes. “Friendly indeed.  He’s more dog than horse. Don’t scratch under his chin, whatever you do.  He’ll never let you stop.”

She grinned at him. “I see you stopped.”

“Well, it’s taken all day.”

“Did you get him at the Nottingham market? Was he expensive?”

Guy scoffed at the second question. “No.  I’ve never paid less for a horse.  But the old man who was selling him seemed pleased with the price I offered.  He said his grandchildren raised him by hand, that he followed them around like a dog.  That made the decision easier.  You know how Allan loves dogs.”

Actually, Marian had no idea.  She smiled again, but with less enthusiasm.  She hoped he had given a fair price. When she first married Guy, she would have been certain that the sentimental value the animal had to the family would not factor in his calculations, and she still wasn’t sure.  She was tempted to ask how much he had paid, however indelicate the question. 

Just then, she caught Guy watching something in the distance. “Quick, Allan’s coming!” he gasped. He took the horse by his halter and turned him. Marian called and waved to the stable boy who had started walking out to take the horse Allan was riding until he turned back, returning to his work. By the time she entered the stable, Guy had already put the horse in the stall usually occupied by his mare; he had turned her out into the paddock when he arrived.

Allan entered with suspicion written all over his face.  “Where’s Luke? He didn’t come out like he usually does.” He narrowed his eyes even further. “And what are the two of you doing out here?”

Marian felt the horse nudge her back with his face, and realized she was blocking Allan’s view of it.  She quickly stepped out of the way.

The look of confusion remained unchanged on Allan’s face for long that Marian was unsurprised when Guy spoke with a little tremor of anxiety in his voice.

“What do you think, Allan?”

Allan stepped forward, scrutinizing the animal’s face.

“That is . . . not your mare, Guy.”

Marian didn’t know what to make of that reply.  No, it was obviously a different horse.  Did this mean Allan didn’t like the look of him?  But when she looked at Guy again, she saw a smirk beginning to spread across his face.

“No, he’s not.  Do you want a closer look?”

Allan nodded in wonder, and Guy opened the stall door, leading him out.

Giving the horse a cursory glance, Allan turned to Guy.  “Is he . . . for me?”

Guy smiled and nodded.  Allan looked at the horse again, reaching out to touch his back as Marian had done.  When he looked at Guy again, he was beaming.

“Oh, Giz . . . you got me a goat!”

“Don’t be mean, Allan,” Guy chided with mock severity.  “He may be short, but he has straight pasterns and long fetlocks, he moves well, he’s fast . . .”

Guy continued naming over the horses’ attributes, but Marian noticed that not once did Allan look at him again.  Guy had absorbed all of his attention.

“Why now, Giz?”

Guy seemed almost puzzled by the question.  He cocked his head to the side.  “Well, you been whinging about how tall my horse . . .”

“I’ve been complaining about Scatterbrain for as long as I’ve been riding him.  Why now?”

“Well,” Guy replied slowly, “I suppose it’s because you’re moving into Knighton tomorrow.” Marian thought she saw a slight blush beginning to creep along his cheekbones, and she wondered why.

Allan began edging towards him.  “Yes, and?”

“You’ll have room for your own horse there.  Marian says there are only a few old work horses in the stable.” He glanced at her for confirmation, and she nodded.

“And I wanted you to have one you can get on easily so . . .”

Allan was standing directly in front of him. “So?”

“So it will be easy for you to come back and visit every day.”

“That’s what I thought,” Allan said with a smile.  Then he stretched up on the tips of his toes to press a kiss to Guy’s lips before pulling him into a tight hug.  Marian could just barely hear him say.  “You know you don’t have to buy me gifts to make me come to you, right? I would do that no matter what.”

When Allan released him, Guy’s blush had darkened, but he was smiling.  Marian felt flooded with emotions she couldn’t place.  It wasn’t an anxious feeling; she could see now that Allan was happy with Guy’s gift.  It definitely had something to do with the way the two men were together.  More specifically, the contrast between what she had just seen and a memory of a similar scenario in which she had been the recipient.  That was definitely something she would have to think about later.

* * *

Guy had offered to have Luke saddle Goat, which Allan had insisted on christening his horse despite his lover’s protests, so he could try him out, but Allan insisted that it could wait. He said he was ready for dinner, but it quickly became clear to her that he was much more interested in the story of how Guy got the horse than the horse himself.

“And did you test ride him?”

“Of course! I’d never buy a horse I hadn’t been on.”

“Did your feet drag the ground?”

Guy scoffed.  “Honestly, Allan . . . almost.”

Marian asked just enough questions to verify that, yes, the old man had gotten what he wanted for the horse, and he was knowledgeable enough about horses to know what he was worth.  Allan’s questions continued to be less prosaic, much to her and Guy’s amusement.

“He’s a chestnut, Giz.  With a white nose and three white feet, no less.  You couldn’t find one in solid bay?”

“No.  If I had ordered him from a tailor, Allan, it would be different story.  With horses, you have to settle for what God gives you.”

This continued until dinner was over, Allan and Guy so wrapped up in each other that every time Marian spoke she seemed to startle them.  She didn’t hesitate to tell them that she was too sleepy to wait up for Guy.

It wasn’t true.  By the time she changed into her nightgown and got into bed, she was too deep in thought to feel sleepy at all. What she had felt seeing Allan embrace Guy at the barn had not been entirely new, she now realized.  It had been the same way when they first came to Locksley.  It wasn’t the fact that they were both men that had shocked her so much as the fact of Guy’s being in an intimate relationship with anyone . . . else.  Her brain supplied the last part without her permission, but she felt the truth of it far more than before.  Since they arrived, she had grown used to seeing them together, but she had also grown closer to Guy.  That was part of what made her feel so odd.

No long ago, the thought of sleeping next to Guy had revolted her; it had seemed absolutely impossible.  And it had been very awkward at the castle those months ago, in spite of his consideration of her.  But now, she was getting used to it.  Every morning, she awoke with her back pressed flat against the pillow barricade.  When she had thought about, she realized that it was because he was so big and heavy.  The distribution of weight was so imbalanced that she slid down the slope of the mattress to press against him without conscious will.  Still, it felt almost as though her body wanted to be closer to his.  As though it were treacherous.  And it wasn’t only her body.

She had tried at first to hide her pregnancy symptoms from him as much as possible, but it had proven impossible. Now, it felt almost normal to talk to him about them.  There were some details that she only discussed with Matilda, but things like her appetite and fatigue were common topics of conversation between her and Guy on nights he followed her directly to bed to braid her hair.  It was a ritual she had grown to look forward to.

She shared so many intimacies with this man she had once despised, but she didn’t kiss him.  After the foolish kiss she had given him when the Sheriff visited, she felt she could not even touch him.  There was a time when things had been very different, but then she hadn’t wanted it.  When Guy had given _her_ a horse, she had barely looked at him, instead giving all her attention to the animal.  She remembered thinking, “maybe it’s worth having to tolerate him if this is what comes of it.” Now, she felt an inexplicable sense of shame.  As though the way Allan reacted, throwing his arms around Guy and kissing him, valuing the giver over the gift, was the right response.  And she had failed to give him that.  She had denied herself that.

Of course, it was nonsense.  She hadn’t done anything wrong; she simply loved Robin instead.  She still loved Robin, not Guy.  But things were so much more complicated than they had been.

Realizing that she would not fall asleep any faster by lying in bed, thinking about these troublesome questions, she got up to make her way to the garderobe.  She was already beginning to feel the unpleasant pressure on her bladder from the ale she had at dinner, and this time she would take care of it before things got desperate.

She walked softly past Guy and Allan’s bedroom on the way back to bed, doing her best not to overhear anything that might be going on within.  She was not successful, for the sound of labored breathing reached her ears through the slightly open door. Without conscious will, she stopped.

“Oh, Allan . . . please,” she heard Guy whimper. Please what? Had he fallen asleep and had a nightmare? Perhaps Allan was asleep too, and that was why he wasn’t comforting him.  She had just taken a step closer to the door when she heard Allan’s voice.

“Is that right, Giz? Is it too much?”

“No . . . ah! No, it’s . . . ah . . . oh God, Allan! There!” Guy moaned loudly, unable to speak more.

Marian felt her skin go hot.  She wanted to flee, but her feet felt nailed to the floor. There was no doubt in her mind now what she was hearing.  She didn’t know what was happening, but it was quite clearly not a nightmare.  Guy moaned again, and the sound pulled her out of her trance.  She darted off and up the stairs as fast as her slippered feet could take her, hoping the two men were too caught up in what they were doing to hear her footfalls.

She was panting with more than tiredness when she reached her own bed. Of course she knew what they were doing when Allan announced that he was going to bed early; she wasn’t naïve. But knowing about it was one thing; hearing it was something altogether different.  What disturbed her most was that she had heard those sounds before.  She had drawn them out of Guy herself. Desire pooled in her stomach even at the memory of that night.

Suddenly, the covers she had climbed under the covers felt stiflingly hot.  She threw them off of her and lay down with a groan of exasperation.  She had all but blocked out that memory before Guy had come back to Locksley, and even sharing a bed with him again had not revived the feeling as strongly as she felt it now.  There was no escaping it; she was jealous of Allan.  And it wasn’t because he had his lover with him while hers was absent.  It was because it was Guy, and he could give him pleasure without feeling ashamed, without the knowledge that he was betraying someone else. She hated herself for these thoughts, but once they started, there was nothing she could do to stop them.

Ages seemed to pass before her eyelids began to grow heavy with sleep.  Just as she was about to drift off, she heard the door creak open and the heavy footsteps that signaled Guy’s reentry.  She felt the mattress sink under his weight as he lay down on the other side of the barricade; it was such a noticeable movement that she was amazed it hadn’t awakened her every night when he had come up so late.  It was funny, she thought, how he always did leave Allan to come and sleep with her. She knew he had been worried by the Sheriff’s appearance that morning weeks ago, but she still felt touched that Guy would leave someone who had given him so much pleasure just to lie next to her.  It was all she could do to not reach over the barricade and touch his shoulder. He was so devoted, still, even if it was of a different kind than he had wanted.  She would not be as weak as she had been at the castle, no matter how long he stayed.  This time, she would offer only comfort and friendship.

 


	14. The Master Bedroom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is pretty much smut. You won't miss any major plot details if you need to skip it. The next couple chapters should be smut-free, though. I will continue to warn as needed.
> 
> This is the edited version of my fic "At Knighton," previously published as an independent one-shot.

Guy arrived at Knighton in the early evening before Allan, while the servants are still readying the rooms for their new master. Though Marian had assured him the servants would have things ready, he was surprised to find the master bedroom so tidy.  He felt a little self-conscious being there. He was not terribly prone to fears about spirits, but it did feel a bit wrong to be in such a private room in a house he had most often known as a coldly-welcomed guest.  In spite of its warmth and brightness and even without Marian and her father there, he still felt a hint of hostility in the very air surrounding him.  Perhaps he needed this night here with Allan as much to cope with his own bad memories of this place as his lover needed it to raise his confidence. When one of the male house servants passed the door, Guy stopped him and ordered a bath to be prepared.  The house was obviously ready for Allan; now he had to ready himself.

It wasn’t an easy process.  The tub the servant brought was even smaller than the one Guy used at the castle, so small that he had to hang his feet and legs over the end after he had washed them in order to reach the rest of his body.  “At least it will be the perfect size for Allan,” he thought to himself as he used one of the buckets of extra water sitting on the floor to rinse the remaining lather from his back and chest.

By the time his lover arrived, he was lying in the middle of the master bed in a towel.From his wide-eyed expression and the loud gasp he made on entering the room, Guy wasn’t sure if Allan were more scandalized or titillated.

“You’d better come here and sit down, pet.  Before you fall.”

“You’re . . . what’re you . . . doing there, just . . . like that?” Allan stammered, struggling to form a sentence.  He signed and laughed softly, shaking his head.

When he finally gained his composure, he said, “I had hoped to be discreet.  Now the . . . my servants will know the rumors about my perverse behavior with the Master at Arms are true. Here he is having a bath in my private room!” 

Guy looked up at ceiling in his usual exasperated gesture, this time using it to hide the smirk threatening to appear. “Honestly, Allan.  Are you going to scold me all night or get up here and fuck me? Did I go to the trouble of ordering a bath for nothing?”

That seemed to compel Allan more than the thought of scandal.  He took a quick, almost stumbling step towards the bed before stopping himself. “If Sir Edward could see what we’re doing in his bedroom . . .”

“Allan, relax. Don’t you think if Sir Edward is still haunting this world, he’s far too busy worrying about Marian to give a thought to what we do in his bed?” Guy asked teasingly. “His former bed, I should say.  I don’t think ghosts sleep.”

Allan scoffed at that, but sat down on the bed and leaned over him to press a kiss to his lips. Guy had planned to show restraint, to allow Allan to take full control his first time topping, but he quickly found himself burying his hands in the smaller man’s hair and slipping his tongue into his mouth.  After a few minutes, Allan pulled away to sit on the edge of the bed and began taking off his vest, followed by his shirt.

“Take it easy, Giz,” he said over his shoulder, “or we’ll both be finished before I even get my boots off.”

Guy rolled his eyes, but took that as a hint to sink to the floor, taking hold of the top and heel of one of Allan’s boots as he pulled his foot out.  Once both boots were off, Allan quickly removed the rest of his clothing while Guy climbed back on the bed. Allan returned to his previous position, this time kneeling between Guy’s spread legs. When Guy tried to deepen the kiss again, Allan sat back on his heels and looked at him quizzically.

“Is there somewhere you need to be later, Giz?” he asked with mock concern.

Guy narrowed his eyes at him.  “No.”

“You’re not in a rush to get back to Marian and her pillow barricade?”

Guy tried not to smile at that, but failed. “No, I was looking forward to getting to cuddle a warm body, actually.  But if you’re going to tease me all night . . .”

“Who’s teasing?” Allan interjected.  “Do you call this teasing? I’ve barely touched you.”

“Precisely.”

Allan grinned and lay down next to him, pushing him back with a hand on his chest when Guy tried to kiss him. The taller man felt his heartbeat quicken.  Both nipples peaked, craving touch so badly, but instead Allan began a long, unhurried stroke down his belly.  Allan kissed him again, more deeply, and he felt a hand wrap around his cock.  He looked down in surprise; he was only beginning to swell, and to be touched by someone else when he was still so soft felt a bit strange.  He turned to Allan questioningly to be met with a little shrug.

“What? I never get to touch you when you’re like this, all tender and relaxed.” 

Guy glared at him and he gave a little chuckle, looking down at his hand rubbing up and down the other man’s cock, which was getting a little harder with each slow stroke. As he grew more sensitive, he have a soft hiss of discomfort, and a look of concern replaced Allan’s smug smile.

“Did you forget something, Allan?” he asked, his voice rough with arousal.

Allan’s eyebrows shot up.  “Oh, shit.  The oil!”

“On the floor next to the tub,” Guy said, pointing.

Allan grinned again, getting up to retrieve it.  “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”

Guy took the opportunity to grab one of the pillows from the head of the bed and push it under his backside.

‘What’s that for?” Allan asked as he climbed back on the bed.

“Elevates me,” Guy explained brusquely.  “It’ll be easier for you to reach my arsehole this way.”

Allan raised his eyebrows.  “That’s not a hint, is it Giz?” His tone was light, but Guy could see the worried expression return to his face. He felt a different kind of warmth spread through him as he realized how nervous his lover was.

“What’s wrong, pet?” he cooed, reaching up to stroke Allan’s cheek.

“I just . . . I don’t want to hurt you. You always take your time with me.”

Guy smiled, holding back a comment about how Allan’s less than generous size made his hurting him unlikely.  In truth, it had been so long since he had had a cock inside him that the fact was rather comforting.

“Well, just start with one finger and I’ll tell you when I’m ready for more.”

Allan nodded, his expression now so serious that it was all Guy could do not to laugh at him.  Instead, he spread his legs further and leaned forward to pat the bed between them invitingly.

Allan opened the vial of oil and made a show of slicking two fingers.  Guy’s cock swelled to full hardness in anticipation of what was to come and twitched when he felt Allan’s fingertip press against his opening, setting off sparks of pleasure through his body.  Guy had almost forgotten how sensitive he was there. The smaller man circled around his rim, then lifted his finger slightly to press against his perineum.  Guy’s whole body gave a jerk and he gasped. He was beginning to sweat heavily now, and his breaths were growing quick and shallow. When he looked up at Allan, he saw that he was grinning with triumph, but also that the blush on his checks had spread to his neck and his bright blue eyes were dark with lust. He sat up a tiny bit to get a better view of Allan’s body and smirked with a triumph of his own.  Allan was already hard and a droplet of pre-come was visible at his slit.

Guy was just about to comment on that when an oil-slicked finger slipped past his rim and inside.  Even as he gasped at the intrusion, a sense of relief flooded him.  He knew that Allan would be thorough in his preparation.  Just the previous night, he had fingered him open for the first time.  While he had been nervous then too, he learned fast. He had made Guy come so loudly that he worried Marian had been able to hear him all the way upstairs, though she was kind enough to not mention it that morning.  Even as the pleasurable tension began to build in his abdomen, Guy winced at the memory.

Allan added another finger and all thoughts of Marian and embarrassment vanished as he continued to work him open.  Though he had not found his prostate yet, Guy felt his cock throb with excitement. Allan curled his fingers, getting oh so close to the right spot.  He whimpered and bucked against Allan’s hand, tightening his sphincter around his fingers. That seemed to excite him further; he leaned down to press a bruising kiss against his lips.  Guy whined into his mouth when he withdrew his hand, but it quickly turned into a shuddering moan Allan wrapped it around his cock again.  After a couple of teasingly brief tugs, Allan backed into to his previous position, this time lying down between his legs and drawing one of them over his shoulder.

Guy felt that his heart was going to pound out of his chest, and his skin grew even hotter.  Though he had considered this possibility, he wasn’t sure his lover would want to do this for him, as much as he always seemed to enjoy it himself. Allan trailed his mouth down Guy’s cock from the leaking tip to the base before settling in to flick the tip of his tongue over his opening.  Even that tiny touch was enough to make Guy writhe and press his head back against the pillow, groaning loudly.  Allan continued to lick over his rim, stopping every few swipes to press just past the tight ring of muscle, until his thighs were shaking and his heel was digging into the smaller man’s back.  When he drew his tongue over his perineum and up the seam of his ballsack, Guy moaned loud and brokenly, the tension within him drawing so tight that he knew another minute of this would finish him.

“God, Allan!” he cried.  “If you’re going to fuck me, do it now.”

Allan opened the vial again in such haste that the contents spilled on the bedspread as well as his hand.  Usually, such a mistake would cause him to chuckle and joke at his own expense, but he was far too bent on the task ahead for such nonsense. Allan took hold of his cock again and lined it up with Guy’s opening, pushing slowly inside.  He looked up at him uncertainly.

“You’re doing fine, pet,” Guy purred between breaths. “Now, move.” Allan’s cock was bigger than his fingers, but it felt even better, stretching the walls of his sphincter in a way he had not felt in far too long.

Allan complied, thrusting shallowly, his mouth opened wide and eyes shut tight in pleasure.

“God, Giz.  You feel . . . so . . .” he gasped brokenly.

Guy found he wasn’t too far gone yet to smirk. “Tight?”

“Yeah.”

“Hot?”

“Fuck.  You feel so good,” he moaned.

Guy took Allan’s face in his hands and lifted his head to kiss him, stroking his tongue along his lover’s before tugging his bottom lip gently between his teeth.  When he ran his hands down the length of Allan’s back to cup his arse, the smaller man began thrusting harder. Guy shifted his hips, trying to find an angle that would allow Allan to rub against his prostate, but soon he felt his lover’s rhythm begin to falter. He dropped his forehead to Guy’s shoulder and spent deep inside him, groaning and shuddering.  Guy wasn’t surprised when he collapsed on top of him, exhausted.

“There, pet.  Shhhh.  Relax,” he mumbled, kissing Allan’s damp hair and stroking his back as he twitched through the aftershocks of his orgasm.     

Eventually, Allan rolled onto his back and lay down next to him, giving him a chance to finally take his cock in his hand.  He groaned and closed his eyes in relief, but when he opened them again he saw Allan sitting up and looking at him, the tired smile gone from his face, and he felt a pang of guilt even as pleasure flooded his senses.

“Not too good, apparently,” Allan muttered, giving him an apologetic smile.

“S’alright,” Guy panted, continuing to stroke himself.  “Good for your first time.”

Allan narrowed his eyes but remained silent.  Suddenly, he got up and knelt between Guy’s legs again.  The larger man opened his mouth to protest, thinking he was about to stop him again, but instead Allan reached lower, slipping his hand down beneath his lover’s ball-sack and pushing two fingers deep inside him.  Guy was still open from being fucked, and Allan easily added a third before thrusting with his fingers just as he had with his cock moments before, his release providing the perfect lubricant.  When he twisted his fingers up and forward into Guy’s prostate, pleasure burst all along his spine and behind his tightly shut eyelids.  He stroked himself faster, mouth falling open as Allan stroked over that delightfully sensitive spot again and again.  When he pressed his thumb just underneath his balls, working his prostate from that side as well, the tension that had been building in Guy’s belly finally snapped.  He cried out as he contracted around Allan’s fingers again and again, splattering his own chest and belly with his release.

His orgasm was so intense that he didn’t move or open his eyes until he felt Allan wiping him down with the towel he had been wearing.

“Thank you, pet,” he mumbled sleepily. Then he reached underneath him to pick up the pillow Allan had placed under his arse.  As expected, it was covered with Allan’s semen, worked out from inside him when he fingered him.  “Better put that in the washing basket too,” he added, stripping off the case, folding it and handing to him.

Allan took it with a look so horrified that Guy couldn’t stop himself from laughing.

“What are you so worried about? There’s no one for you to get in trouble with here besides yourself.” Then he became more solemn.  “You’re the master now, Allan.  You have to act like it.”

Allan sighed as he lay down next to him.  “I know, Giz.  It’s just a lot to get used to. And I know the Sheriff has some ulterior motive.  You remember he gave Much a manor too.”

“I remember, but that was different.  You’re cleverer than Much.”

“Your words, not mine,” Allan said, the corner of his mouth twitching into a wry smirk.  “Maybe I’m just a better liar.  Not as loyal to Robin, certainly.”

Guy turned onto his side facing him and wrapped an arm around Allan’s shoulders, pulling him closer.  “Maybe not, but you’re loyal to me, aren’t you?”

Allan hesitated, and his features creased with worry.  Guy thought maybe he was thinking back to how their association had begun.  He had certainly been ashamed of himself then, and Guy sometimes wondered if a trace of that shame still remained.  Perhaps “loyal” had been the wrong word to use.

But then Allan smiled warmly and leaned in to give him a soft kiss. “You bet I am, Giz,” he mumbled, pressing Guy onto his back and laying his head on his chest.


	15. The Pickpocket

Marian had been looking forward to night of unbroken rest when Guy told her he would be staying over with Allan on his first night at his new manor, but she was disappointed.  Rather than feeling as though she could stretch and move and take up space in the big bed, it had felt cold and empty without Guy in it.  She had actually gotten up after a couple of sleepless hours to retrieve the pillow barricade from the floor.  That had given her some comfort, but it wasn’t the same without Guy’s weight against the other side.  Eventually, she had drifted off, but not before considering that it was probably the first time ever that she had missed Guy.  More than he was missing her probably, she thought, and then chided herself for her naughtiness.

Of course, Matilda would choose that morning to visit.  She had been looking forward to telling her how much more under control she felt her nausea was now that she was eating more fruit and vegetables instead of meat, but the incident with the Sheriff and Knighton had taken a toll on her, and now she had slept badly on top of it.  She wished she had a chance to freshen up and pinch her cheeks to put some color into them before seeing her, but Matilda came to visit so frequently that the servants let her in without announcing her.

“Good morning, my lady.  How are you?” she asked, already looking Marian over for any changes in her appearance.

“I’m well.  How are . . .”

“You don’t look it,” the midwife said abruptly.  “Those dark circles tell me you haven’t been sleeping well.  Are you still throwing up in the evenings?”

Marian sighed.  “I did throw up, the night before last, after . . . after I heard about Knighton.”

Matilda nodded grimly.  “Yes, it’s a shame.  I heard about it from Adams’ wife.  She also told me that you went to Knighton to warn them, and to thank you again.”

“I don’t know that I warned them exactly,” Marian replied with a frown.  “I wanted to let them know what to expect, and remind them that Allan is a friend to Robin and means them no harm.” She knew that Matilda hadn’t forgiven Allan’s treachery entirely either, but at least she spoke more kindly of him than of Guy.

“Well, I believe you, my lady, but it’s no surprise that they’re suspicious.  There aren’t many friends of Robin who would work for the Sheriff, you can be sure. But I’m not here to talk about that old devil. So, no sickness last night?”

Marian shook her head.

“That’s good! But why did you have trouble sleeping?”

“Oh no,” Marian thought to herself.  Matilda knew she was sharing bed with Guy and was appalled by the idea, even as she seemed to understand the reasoning behind it. She didn’t know what to say to her.

Fortunately, just at that moment she heard the front door open and the heavy footfalls that signaled Guy’s entry.  As soon as he saw Matilda sitting with Marian by the fireplace, he glanced back at the door as though considering walking back through it.  Marian motioned him forward with her hand.

“Guy, I was just telling Matilda about . . . about my symptoms.  Sometimes I forget some of them until after she’s gone, and then it’s too late.  I’ve told her about the nausea, still, at night; can you think of anything else?”

Guy glanced at Matilda briefly, then at the fireplace.  When Marian looked at her too she could see why.  The woman looked like she had swallowed a spoonful of salt from the firm set of her jaw and the disgusted twist of her mouth.

He looked back at Marian.  “I think you’re sleeping more soundly now.  I don’t feel you moving around at night so much.”

“That’s right!” Marian cried with so much enthusiasm that Guy knitted his brows in concern. “I have been sleeping a lot better.” Perhaps she was overplaying it a bit for Matilda’s benefit.  She wanted her to see that Guy meant her no harm, but the midwife was so convinced that nothing good could come of Gisborne’s being around that it was a difficult task indeed.

“That’s because you’re getting used to the discomfort, my lady.  The body adapts to the circumstances, no matter how unpleasant they are.”

Marian knew even before she looked back at Matilda that these words were directed at Guy.  He knew it too.  He was standing awkwardly with his hands behind his back, looking into the fireplace.

“Anything else, Guy?” Marian asked, worrying that she sounded a little desperate.

Without moving or ceasing to frown, he said, “I don’t think you’re getting as sick at night.  Your . . . your idea about the vegetables, it . . . seems to be working.”

“Vegetables? At dinner?” Marian noted with surprise that Matilda addressed this directly to Guy.  He glanced up, regarding the older woman as though amazed that she was speaking to him.

“Yes.”

“While you and your . . . lieutenant have boar and pheasant, no doubt.”

Guy looked up and sighed.  “Game makes her ill!  I wish it didn’t, but it does.  She eats what she pleases, and the peasant food is what she can keep down.  What am I supposed to do?”

He asked the question in a tone both exasperated and on the verge of frustration.  Marian knew he didn’t want to incur the midwife’s wrath any more than he had already, but she didn’t know he was so anxious for her good opinion.

Matilda continued to squint at him without making a reply, but Marian thought her expression looked a little less outraged and more . . . inquisitive.  As though she thought she saw something familiar but couldn’t quite make it out.  Guy finally gave up on her silence.

“I have to go, Marian.  There’s still work to be done.  I just came by to make sure you had all you needed, but I see that you do now.”

This ended with a scowl at Matilda, who did not hesitate to return it.

“Yes, run back to your master.  We’re fine here.”

Marian’s eyes widened at the tartness of her comment.  “I’ll see you tonight, Guy,” she said quickly with a smile, hoping to soften the blow and deflect any angry response he might have.  He simply nodded at her and walked away.

She turned to Matilda.  “Was that necessary? He’s doing his best!” she said, a bit snappishly in spite of her efforts to calm herself.  The older woman ignored her, watching the door shut behind Guy before she spoke.

“Most nobles insist on their wives eating meat.  Even more than usual.  They think it makes for strong sons.”

She glanced at Marian before going on. “Sir Malcolm insisted on partridge being prepared for Lady Jane at every opportunity, even though she hated it before, and all through her pregnancy.”

Marian was completely bewildered.  She was always interested in Matilda’s stories about Robin’s parents, but could not begin to guess what the point of this one might be.

“What does that have to do with  . . .” she began.

  
“It’s complete nonsense, my lady.  Of course you should eat what you like, and what your stomach accepts.  Anything else is simply stupid.  What I don’t understand is how Gisborne, of all people, would know that.”

Marian knew.  He simply wanted to make her happy in any small way he could.  She remembered the way he always made sure she had fresh summer fruit during the two months she had lived with him at Locksley before, even after they had quarreled.  So much had changed between them, but that had not.  Yet she knew she could not expect Matilda to believe that.

“Well, the baby is not his,” she offered lamely.

Matilda turned to her with an eyebrow cocked.  “Anyone can see that this isn’t about the baby, my lady.  You keep eating your peasant food, and keep sleeping with Gisborne if you must, but remember that all of this is temporary. It was just over a month ago that you came to me, right?”

Marian nodded.

“That means within another month your belly will start to swell, and you won’t be able to hide it anymore.  You should consider returning to Knighton when that happens.”

“Oh,” she whispered, dumbfounded. The thought had never occurred to her. “Why Knighton?”

“Well, I know Adams and his Bess would look after you.  And surely Allan wouldn’t begrudge you staying in your own bedroom, if he’s such a friend to Robin.”

“No, Allan wouldn’t mind, but . . . Locksley is my home.”

Matilda gave her a long look and sighed before rising to her feet.  “Just something to think about, my lady.  Now, I do have a few more expecting mothers to see today, but I’ll try to stop by a little more often.  Good day.”

* * *

After Matilda left, Marian went into the kitchen.  In order to make herself feel useful, she had begun helping Edith with the preparations for dinner. At first, the cook had objected strenuously, but when she realized that Marian needed the company, she was more than happy to have her.  Today, she was peeling apples for pies. As she worked, she thought about the exchange she had just watched.

It wasn’t that she didn’t understand why Matilda was uneasy about Guy.  After all, he had helped the Sheriff almost drown her.  And she was close to many families all around Nottinghamshire, so she no doubt had friends who had been mistreated by Guy.  And yet he had been nothing but helpful to her ever since she told him about her pregnancy; didn’t that count for something?  If he were going to hurt her, he had missed many opportunities.  Matilda knew about her three nights at the castle, and that she had told him about her and Robin.  And he obviously knew that he was not the father of her baby, yet he was still willing to save her reputation. If that didn’t make her realize that Guy was trying to be a good man, then nothing he could do would.  Marian would have to manage that herself.

Once she had peeled all the apples Edith required, she went into the main room to see if Guy and Allan had arrived yet.  As she rounded the corner, she saw Guy sitting in front of the fire where Matilda had been with his head in his hands.  Allan was sitting in Marian’s chair, leaning forward and saying something to Guy that she couldn’t quite make out.  The worried look on his face told her that it was something serious.  She hurried forward.

“What’s happened?” she asked anxiously.

Guy remained motionless, but Allan glanced up at her, sighing and shaking his head.  Then he turned to Guy.

“Shall I tell her?”

He just shrugged and turned his head to the side, looking into the fireplace again.

Allan looked up at her, concern written in every line of his face.  “It’s like this, Marian.  Guy and I were following the Sheriff to an assembly in the middle of town.  He was wearing that long cloak of his, wide open, where everyone in the world could see the money pouch he had hanging from his belt.  Anyway, as we were passing through the thickest part of the crowd, some brazen fool slid past him tried to take it.  Now, his technique was good; I only spotted him because I’ve used the same one myself . . .”

“Get on with it Allan,” Guy snarled through gritted teeth, not looking away from the fireplace.

“Right, well.  I reached out and grabbed his wrist just when he was taking the bag.  The Sheriff finally saw what was happening, and he just started screaming like a stuck pig: ‘How dare you try to rob me! Who do you think you are, Robin Hood?’” He imitated the Sheriff’s enraged shriek.

“Oh my God,” Marian gasped.  “What happened to the man?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Allan went on.  “I was still holding onto his wrist, to stop him from getting away once I’d caught him, and the Sheriff told me to stretch his hand out. I did, though he was shaking so badly I could barely hold on to him, and I wasn’t much better myself.  Then the Sheriff . . .”

“He told me to cut the man’s hand off with my sword, and I . . . couldn’t do it,” Guy interrupted, finally looking up from the fire.  The expression on his face couldn’t have been more dejected had the Sheriff demanded his own hand instead. "It was stupid; the man will be hanged anyway."

Marian was so stunned she felt dizzy.  She realized she must have looked it as well, because Guy immediately got up, offering her his chair.

Once she was recovered, she looked up at Guy.  “How did the Sheriff take it?”

He scoffed and turned back to the fireplace.

“How do you think he took it, Marian? Do you think he congratulated me? I’ve never disobeyed an order from him.  Ever.” Then after a pause, he turned to her with a cruel smirk. “But I don’t have to tell you that, do I? You and that midwife are very aware of how obedient I am.”

Marian tried to stay calm, knowing that he was speaking from distress, but her indignation got the better of her.

“Well _I’m_ not sorry you did the right thing for once, Guy, even if you are,” she snapped.

His smirk dissolved into grim frown and his nostrils flared with anger.

“The right thing?” he growled, taking two steps forward so that he was standing over her. “Yes, that is comforting.  I’m sure I’ll think so when I’m in the dungeon awaiting execution! And so will you, because you’ll be right there with me.  We can congratulate each other on how good we are.  Maybe Hood will show up at the last possible minute and save us.”

“Guy!” came a stern voice from behind him.  Marian looked around Guy’s body to see Allan standing next to his chair, stretching his hand down towards it.  “Come over here and sit . . . please.”

Guy took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, as though trying to physically release his anger before obeying.  Once he was seated, Allan knelt down on the floor next to the chair, looking up at him.

“Giz, look at me,” he pleaded.

Guy glanced from side to side before doing as he was told, and Allan lifted his hand to cover one of Guy’s larger ones.

“Look, Giz.  It’s going to be alright.  You know shouting at Marian isn’t going to make you feel better, is it?”

He scoffed again, but more softly. “No.”

“No.  So relax, alright? Don’t worry about the Sheriff.  He’s already screeched at you in front of half of Nottingham; don’t you think that will satisfy him? If anything like this happens again, I’ll handle it.”

Guy couldn’t quite hide the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth.  “You will? What will you do?”

Marian couldn’t see Allan’s face, but she strongly suspected that he was grinning mischievously. “I don’t know, wring his neck maybe? He’s the only man in Nottingham who’s smaller than I am; I think I can take him.”

“Indeed.  And how will you hide this from the twenty men in his private guard?”

Allan shrugged.  “Behind your back, of course, where I do all my lawless do-gooding.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Guy observed, mirroring the smile on Allan’s face.

Marian breathed a sigh of relief inwardly, knowing the tension had passed for the time being.

* * *

Allan decided that he wanted to spend the night again—“I haven’t been at Knighton long enough for anyone to miss me,” he had said—and Marian went to bed unusually early.  Her energy that day had been as low as her temper had been high—just another side effect of pregnancy, she suspected.  She thought about what Matilda had said about what to expect in the coming month.  Guy had told her that he would stay until she announced her pregnancy, and now that event was on the horizon.  Would he still want to leave? Would she even want him to by then?

She grunted with frustration and rolled onto her back.  It wasn’t an easy question.  Most of the time, they got along so well, but when Guy’s anxiety about the Sheriff made him rude and sarcastic, it was a different story.  She simply had no idea what to say to him without making things worse.  Allan always seemed to, though.  There didn’t seem to be any situation in which he couldn’t make Guy smile.  She supposed it was because he spent so much time with him and cared so deeply for him.  Though Robin would probably never admit it, she knew she had a similar effect on him.  She could make him see sense when no one else could.  Perhaps Guy had been right long ago; it would just take time for them to understand each other.


	16. Tempers

A year before, Guy had come to think that waking up next to Marian was an impossible dream.  Now, having shared a bed with her for two months, he had almost gotten used to it.  He sat up in bed and looked down at the few long strands of her hair that were spread across the barricade.  It made him smile.  No matter how securely he fastened the end of her braid before they went to bed, some of it always escaped.  How fitting for Marian that even her hair flouted restraint.

She was still deep asleep.  She had been sleeping much better in the past weeks, having finally gotten used to lying on her side.  It had also been quite a few nights since she had any nausea, and even Matilda had finally admitted that she was managing better than she had expected.

Guy still spent most of his nights at Locksley, though he had stayed with Allan at Knighton a few times.  He knew that Allan wanted him to live there after Marian announced her pregnancy, but the idea displeased him. Allan still had dinner with them more nights than not, but seemed to prefer spending the night in his own master bed at Knighton to the long, narrow guest bed at Locksley. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to sleep with his lover every night again, but he didn’t like the idea of abandoning Marian.  If she asked him to leave, that would be one thing, but to leave because of the announcement looked like he was escaping responsibility.  Like he was treating Marian even worse than he had treated Annie.

“It’s completely different,” Allan had told him when he brought it up.  “Why do you care what people in Nottingham think? They already look down on you.  And the baby’s not even yours. God, Giz; you’re doing Marian a favor!”

He couldn’t find any fault with this logic, but it didn’t make him feel better.  Neither he nor Marian had brought up the topic of his moving out, in spite of the fact that the roundness of her belly was becoming more apparent every day.  He sometimes wondered if perhaps she wanted him to stay, but dismissed it as wishful thinking.  She had Edith to look after her, and Matilda visited a few times a week; why did she need him?

As he was having these reflections, Marian rolled over and lay her head on the wall of pillows, looking up at him.

“I didn’t even know you were awake; you’re so quiet,” she murmured. Then she paused and frowned.  “What were you thinking about just now? You look sad.”

Guy just smiled at her.  She hadn’t been awake for a full minute, and already she was asking questions that had no simple answers. At just that moment, he heard a familiar voice booming from downstairs.

“GISBORNE!”

Marian’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh, no, not again,” she whispered.

“Stay here and dress yourself,” Guy ordered, jumping to his feet.  “I’ll go down and try to get rid of him.” He pulled on his boots and rushed out of the room.

Vaisey was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.

“I see you’ve finally merited a place in the master bedroom, Gizzy,” he sneered.  “Was it because you failed to dismember that poor pickpocket?”

Guy cringed inwardly; it was the first time he had mentioned that incident from almost a month ago, and he had foolishly hoped he had forgotten it.

“What’s happened, my lord?” he asked, hoping to change the subject.

The Sheriff smiled with mock friendliness.  “Does something have to happen for me to pay a call to my Master at Arms? Maybe I’ve been missing you.”

Guy struggled to respond to that.  The Sheriff saw him every day, though he gave fewer and fewer orders to him directly.  While he still met Allan and Guy together every morning to give them their duties for the day, his casual observations were directed mostly at Allan.  After the incident with the pickpocket, Guy had preferred being ignored to a less pleasant alternative.  Now he wondered if the lack of attention had been covering something more sinister.

“What can I do for you, my lord?” seemed the safest response.

The sheriff’s expression turned grim.  “There is something particular,” he said, turning to walk down the hall.  Guy followed, not knowing what else to do, and the Sheriff went on.

“As you know, Sir Jasper makes regular visits and reports back to Prince John about the situation here. There was a time when he also told me what was going on in London, but apparently that time is over because . . . what are you doing, Gisborne?” he snapped, suddenly turning around.

Guy was dumbfounded.  “I was just . . . following, my lord.  I thought you might . . . want me to see something?”

“Has your brain gone soft, Gisborne? What could I possibly have to show you in your own house?” he snarled.  The he shook his head. “Stand there, Gisborne.  And let me finish.  Don’t interrupt again!”

Guy wanted to remind him that he hadn’t interrupted the first time, but he held his tongue.

Vaisey began pacing again. “He wouldn’t give a direct answer to any of my questions.  And all the correspondence I receive from London is postmarked weeks before it arrives.  It doesn’t take weeks to transport mail from London to Nottingham!”

“It does if you keep executing the messengers,” Guy thought to himself, but again he said nothing, simply standing still with his hands clasped behind his back.

“What does that mean? Don’t answer! I know what it means.  There’s something Prince John, or someone else, doesn’t want me to know about.  If they’re going to refuse to respond to my messages or answer my questions, what am I to do? Obviously, someone has to go to London and find out what is going on.”

Guy’s hands dropped to his side.  He felt his chest tighten with anxiety.  Moving to Knighton was a possibility he could live with; he could still see Marian every day and make sure she had everything she required.  But he could not possibly go to London.  Though the Sheriff continued speaking, explaining the benefits of having his own spy, not one of the Prince’s henchmen, report to him, Guy found it impossible to listen.  He wondered if Marian still felt the same way about Knighton being too full of memories of her father.  Would she be willing to move back in while he was gone? He was sure Allan would be happy to have her, but would he make sure she had food she liked? Would he help her wind down at the end of the day? He probably wouldn’t braid her hair for her, but he might . . .

“And then I realized, Allan! Allan is the perfect spy!”

That stopped Guy’s train of thought cold. “What’s that my lord? What . . . Allan?”

Vaisey looked up him, annoyed.  “What do you mean, ‘what Allan?’ Your little friend.  Your boy.  The one who does your job as well as you do. No one will ever suspect him.  They’ll think he’s just some dumb, illiterate peasant, but we know better.  Such subtlety, such cunning!”

In spite of his shock, Guy could almost smile at that: the Sheriff had no idea. “But, my lord, he’s never been to London.  And only Sir Jasper, of all the prince’s men, even knows him.  Why would they trust him?”

Vaisey looked up at him coldly.  “Why wouldn’t they trust him as much as they trust you, Gisborne? Answer me that.  The last time I sent you to London, you were absolutely useless.”

“My lord, that was years ago,” Guy replied defensively.  “That was even before Hood . . .”

Guy trailed off as he saw the Sheriff’s eyes light up; he knew he had hit upon the point. “You want Allan to go because he used to be in Hood’s gang.  Sir Jasper has probably told everyone that.  You want to remind them that one of Hood’s men turned for you.”

“Exactly, Gizzy!” he cried.  “Maybe you’re not as useless as I thought.”

Guy scowled.  He knew he shouldn’t react to that, but he couldn’t help himself. “He turned for me, not you.”

As soon as he said it, he regretted it, but there was nothing he could do.  The Sheriff’s grin turned malevolent.

“Maybe that was true at first.  But he works for me now, not just you, and he knows that.  He didn’t hesitate to accept Knighton from me, did he? He shows up before you do every morning.  What do you imagine we talk about when you’re not there?”

Guy felt as though his blood had turned to ice.  He had never wondered what they talked about before his arrival, but he certainly felt a keen curiosity about it now.

“What, my lord?”

The Sheriff smiled coyly.  “Well, that would be telling, wouldn’t it?  My point is, I think he’ll be quite pleased to go on this little trip for me.”

“He will?” Guy asked, confused.  “You haven’t told him yet?”

“Oh no, Gizzy.  I thought I’d let you do that.  You’ve made the trip before.  You can help him plan! Tell him when he comes for dinner.  I have much for him to do this afternoon, and I don’t want him distracted by excitement . . . ah look! The lady of the house.”

Guy turned to see Marian coming downstairs in her day dress.  When she saw his expression, the color drained from her face, and she looked rapidly back and forth between him and the Sheriff. “What’s happened?” she asked, a trace of panic in her voice.

Vaisey sneered up at her.  “Nothing for you to worry about, my lady.  I just came to tell your husband I’m sending his man to London for a while, that’s all.”

“Allan?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “What for?”

“Oh, I have my reasons,” he replied in a brusque tone.  “Nothing for you to worry about.” Then he looked her over in silence for a moment, finally smiling serenely.

“You’re looking very well, my lady, if I may say so.  You have a certain . . . glow.  Doesn’t she, Gisborne?”

Guy remained silent, but he felt his blood grow even colder.  Did the Sheriff suspect?

“Just . . . just the change in the weather,” Marian said dismissively.  It had been getting much colder in the mornings now that it was getting into October; maybe the Sheriff would believe that, Guy thought hopefully.

“Perhaps,” the Sheriff replied after considering for a moment.  “But I think you’re glad you won’t be losing your husband to London, aren’t you?”

Marian looked at Guy, and he thought he saw a small flicker of relief cross her face. “Yes, my lord,” she said.

“I thought so.  Well, I’ll be on my way, Gisborne.  I have much to do.”

* * *

Before he left for the castle, Marian did her best to convince Guy that he had nothing to worry about, that Allan had no idea of this trip, and Vaisey was no doubt up to some duplicitous scheme.  “Honestly, Guy, who do you trust more: Allan or the Sheriff?”

It was a good question, why was it suddenly so difficult to answer? He believed Allan cared for him, but he had lied to him in the past.  And he had done a very good job of convincing him that he was trustworthy, even while sharing his secrets with Robin.  The Sheriff was certainly right about one thing; he was a perfect spy.  Was he spying on him and Marian now? What disturbed him most was the way the Sheriff had looked at her.  He saw her every day, so of course he was aware of how she had changed, but was it enough for someone who saw her so rarely to notice? Did the Sheriff, who had never had any interest in family life, know enough about pregnant women to recognize one? Or did someone tell him?

True to his word, the Sheriff had put Allan to work as soon as he arrived, sending him off with various errands around Nottingham and the surrounding villages.  Guy, on the other hand, spent the day acting as the Sheriff’s scribe, writing letters addressed to the prince’s advisors.  He tried to convince himself that the Sheriff still trusted him more than his regular scribes, but he couldn’t help wondering if he wasn’t just keeping him and Allan apart to build up his worry.  If that were the case, it was working very well.

By the time he got back to Locksley that evening, he was so anxious to see Allan that he could barely bring himself to go inside.  Even after Marian had demanded that he come in, he continued to watch for the little chestnut horse and his rider from the window.

By the time Allan appeared, Guy was pacing the floor himself.  Marian had given up on trying to calm him and had gone to sit at the table. When Allan walked through the door, he greeted Guy and attempted to join her, only to be stopped by Guy before he could sit down.

“The Sheriff stopped by this morning.  He had a lot of compliments for you.”

“Guy, please,” Marian sighed with exasperation.  “Can’t this wait until after dinner?”

“Oh, no.  The Sheriff wants him to be off tomorrow afternoon at the latest. There isn’t a moment to spare.”

Allan looked up him with seemingly genuine confusion.  It had been a long time since Guy had considered whether Allan was playing a part; he was certainly convincing.  But then that was an attractive quality in a spy.

“What are you on about, Guy?” he asked.

“The Sheriff has given me the task of informing you that you’ll be travelling to London tomorrow.  No doubt you’ve been preparing all day without even knowing it.”

“He . . . I . . . what?” Allan stammered, his eyes wide in shock. “London? Why would the Sheriff send me to London?”

Guy sneered.  “Is it really that surprising? You’re his favorite now.  He certainly thought you’d jump at the chance. What duties did he assign you today?”

Allan turned around to look at Marian, as though hoping she could tell him why he was being interrogated.  Guy felt a twinge of sympathy for him, but ignored it.

Getting no help from her, Allan turned back with a crestfallen expression.  “He sent me to the mapmakers, then to the farrier’s to get Goat shod.  But he told me he only wanted me to make daily trips to Nettlestone to make sure the weaponry we left there was secure. And he didn’t want me to loose time because my horse went lame. He certainly never mentioned London.”

“Do you expect me to believe you had no idea?” Guy snapped.  “You’re so subtle and cunning.”

Allan narrowed his eyes at him.  “What has he told you, Guy?”

“What do you talk about in the mornings when I’m not there?” he fired back.  He was almost shaking with agitation by now, and it was getting harder to keep his temper in check.

“I . . . I don’t know.  The weather? The slowness of the mail? We don’t talk about you, if that’s what you’re worried about.  At least not anything the Sheriff doesn’t already know.”

“Like what?” Guy demanded.

“Well, he doesn’t like that you’re still living here with Marian, of course.”

“So you keep him informed about us?”

“What? Giz, no.  I just . . .”

“Did you tell him Marian is pregnant?” Guy barked fiercely.

The color drained from Allan’s face. “Why are you so upset? What does that have to do with anything?”

“He knows, Allan! Someone told him.”

Marian made her way towards them, standing next to the smaller man.  Allan glanced sideways at her.  “I’m not being funny, Guy, but anyone can see that she’s pregnant,” he said, gesturing towards her belly.  “You are getting a bit thick in the middle . . . no offense.”

“Oh, I’m not offended,” she said without looking at him.  “Guy, what is wrong with you? Why does it matter if the Sheriff knows? Everyone will know soon enough! You know you can trust Allan.”

Guy smirked cruelly at her.  “We’ve both thought that before and been wrong.”

Allan threw up his hands in exasperation.  “I don’t believe this.  You’re dragging that up? Yes! I’ve lied to Marian . . . for you! And to you for Robin.  But do you really think I would turn on you for _the Sheriff_? What, because he gave me a manor? After what we’ve . . . Do you think that I’m so easily bought? That I would sink so low?”

Guy tightened his hands into fists, too incensed to speak.  Allan’s eyes widened in horror as he realized the implication of his words.

“Giz, I’m sorry . . . I didn’t mean.”

“I know what you meant.  I know how these things work,” Guy hissed through gritted teeth, removing the letters he had written from inside his jacket and all but throwing them in Allan’s face.  “Take these. The Sheriff said you are to deliver them to Sir Jasper when you arrive in London.  Now, I’m sure you want to get ready for your trip.”

“Guy, at least let him stay for dinner,” Marian pleaded, but Allan reached out to touch her on the arm, shaking his head.

“No, Marian, I’ll go.  It’s no use trying to talk to him when he’s like this.”

He looked up at Guy, so shattered that he almost regretted his tone.  “Once you’ve calmed down and thought about this, I hope you’ll realize I would never do what you think.”

Then he looked from Guy to Marian and back again.  “Well, this is goodbye, I suppose.  If the Sheriff wants me to leave tomorrow afternoon, I probably won’t see you again before I . . .”

Marian wrapped her arms around Allan and pulled him into a tight hug.  Guy could hear him whispering into her ear, though he could not make out what he was saying.  Marian nodded, even as she glowered up at Guy over his shoulder. When Allan turned around, Guy found it impossible to meet his gaze.  He suddenly felt exhausted.  Allan sighed, and then he heard his soft footsteps as he made his way out of the house.

Without looking at Marian, Guy walked to the table and sat down.  She remained where she was, but when she turned around and spoke, her voice was icy.

“Guy, how could you be so unfeeling to Allan? He obviously had no knowledge of this.”

He poured himself a goblet of wine.  Nothing would make him ready for this conversation, but the wine wouldn’t hurt.

“You don’t know anything about it, Marian.  Please, let’s just . . .”

“I know that you’ve just thrown your dearest friend out into the cold because the Sheriff has made you paranoid.  That’s what’s relevant here! How can you . . .?”

“Marian!” he cried. She stopped speaking, but stared at him expectantly. He took a deep breath, struggling to calm his fragile nerves. Finally, he spoke in a flat tone.

“Marian, I . . . I think the Sheriff wants to make Allan Master at Arms.”

“You . . . what?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.

“Come and sit down, please.”

She came forward and sat down slowly, looking at him out of the corner of her eye the whole time.  Guy placed his elbows on the table, pressing his forehead against his linked fingers for a moment before speaking.

“Do you remember the man who was Master of Arms before me?”

She nodded.

“Before he . . . before I took over, the Sheriff was growing more and more displeased with him, and was giving me more and more responsibility.  Do you know what happened to him?”

“He . . . he died, right?” she replied slowly, as though struggling to recall the details.

“He didn’t just die, Marian”

She turned to look him full in the face.  “He was murdered? How do you . . .”

Guy turned a savage smirk on her.  “Think about for a minute, Marian, and you’ll see exactly how I know.”

She lifted her hand to cover her mouth, but not quickly enough to hide her disgust. She took a moment to compose herself, staring thoughtfully at the table.

“But, Guy,” she said at length.  “That was a completely different situation.  For it to be the same, Allan would have to . . . you can’t believe Allan would . . . that Allan would . . . kill you.” She whispered the last words, as though they were too blasphemous to be spoken out loud.

He took another deep sip of his wine.  Without looking at her, he muttered, “I don’t think he would want to.”

At that, Marian laughed so loudly and sharply that he jumped in his seat.  “Have you lost your mind? Allan loves you! If the Sheriff thinks he’s going to kill you for him, he’s about to be the most disappointed man in England.  Allan would die before he would hurt you, or let anyone else hurt you.  How can you see the way he looks at you and not know that?”

Guy continued drinking without looking at her.  He wanted to believe her so badly, but it was too hard.  Up until that morning, he had believed Allan cared for him.  Not as much as she said, but enough to not betray him to the Sheriff.  But the Sheriff’s words had made him question everything he believed about him, as they so often had with so many people.  He couldn’t give Marian an answer.

“I’m going up,” she said abruptly.  “You . . . stay.  I can’t look at you anymore.”

As she walked away, Guy finished his drink and started to pour another, stopping just before any of the red liquid spilled into his goblet.  Pushing it away, he lay his head down on the table. He did not stir from his chair for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter just about killed me. I'll post the next, happier chapter as soon as I can, but it will be the last one for a little while.


	17. Making Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some more sex in this chapter, between the two sets of asterisks (* * *)
> 
> I'm about to have to take a short break from posting due to busy-ness at work, and there may not be a new chapter until mid May. Thanks to everyone who is following this work, especially those of you who are leaving comments. They are much appreciated!
> 
> When the story returns, there will be more focus on the development of Guy and Marian's relationship.

Guy awoke the next morning to the soft press of a hand on his shoulder.  As soon as he lifted his head he cried out in pain; he had fallen asleep with his neck turned at an odd angle and it had a horrible crick in it.

“Guy, are you . . . you’re not hungover?” Marian asked.

He hissed and lifted a hand to rub at the stiff muscles.  “No . . . I don’t think I could feel much worse now if I was.”

“You might have slept in the guest bed,” she pointed out.

Guy scoffed. “What, the bed I used to sleep in with Allan? No. I don’t think I would’ve slept any better there.”

Marian sighed and sat down, across from him this time, so he wouldn’t have to turn his head to look at her.

When he did so, he couldn’t stop himself from blurting out, “You look terrible.” Her skin was as pale and the circles under her eyes as pronounced as when he had seen her on the day she told him she was pregnant.

She shrugged.  “I didn’t sleep very well either.”

“No?”

“I was worked up about last night too, I guess.” Then, in a more serious tone. “Guy, I . . . I have to say this to you.”

“What, more?” he groaned with frustration. “Do you really have to?”

“Yes.  I . . . Guy, I’m sorry.  For what I said, and for not letting you sleep upstairs.”

That was not what he expected, and he knitted his brows in confusion. “You’re what?”

She interlocked her fingers on the table and looked at them in intense concentration as she spoke.

“Allan told me, before he left, that I should be kind to you.  But I wasn’t. I was angry because you were so . . . mistrusting of him.  And I thought he’d never given you reason.  But then I remembered, he has.  And so have I.  Everyone you’ve believed you could trust, since I’ve know you anyway, has told your secrets and deceived you. Why should you trust any of us?”

Guy’s mouth hung open in surprise.  Was he still asleep and dreaming?

“But,” she continued, and his heart sank.  Of course, there was a caveat to all this sudden understanding.

“But?” he repeated.

“Neither of us wanted to hurt you.”

He sighed in exasperation and started to get up, but the pain in his neck and shoulder was too great for quick movements.  Marian went on in a beseeching tone.

“No, Guy, listen.  I asked Robin to spare your life even after he told me you tried to kill the king.  Every time Allan brought Robin information it was always, ‘Guy is just following orders,’ or ‘just don’t hurt Guy.’”

“You were there when Allan . . .?”

“No.  But Robin told me afterwards.  Honestly, he should have been able to figure out that the two of you were lovers without seeing it for himself.”

Guy blushed at the memory of that night, momentarily distracted from the bizarre conversation they were having.

“My point is, you think the Sheriff wants you dead so he can give Allan your job, right?”

Guy hesitated to reply.  He had felt so convinced that it was true the night before, but now it did seem a little paranoid.

Marian seemed to take his silence as her answer.  “Don’t you think maybe he wants you to feel alone, and as though you can’t trust anyone? If he wanted to make you feel safer, he would have sent you to London, and replaced you while you were gone.  Or sent Allan without telling you. I think he wanted to make you mistrust him.”

Guy pressed his lips together thoughtfully.  That did make a lot of sense. “What’s your point, Marian?”

She lay her hands palm down on the table and slid one towards him before suddenly pulling it back, as though remembering that she wasn’t allowed to touch.  She settled for looking into his eyes instead.

“I think you should go and patch things up with Allan before he leaves.  If you still feel suspicious, look into things while he’s gone. Confront him when he gets back.  But don’t let him leave thinking you don’t trust him.  He can’t do you any harm in London, and it’s a dangerous place.  I know you care for him, and you’d never forgive yourself if something happened to him and your last words were angry.”

As she stopped speaking, she looked away from him, and Guy considered again how exhausted she appeared to be. He couldn’t help wondering if she had been lying awake all night, thinking about him and Allan, perhaps wishing things had gone differently the last time she saw Robin.

“Alright,” he muttered.

You glanced at him again, her eyes brighter.

“You’ll go?” she gasped.

“I’ll go.  But I want you to go back upstairs and get some sleep while I’m gone. You don’t need to tire yourself out over my problems.”

* * *

The closer he got to Knighton, the more Guy felt that he was doing the right thing.  After all he and Allan had been through together, he deserved the benefit of the doubt. It wasn’t until the manor was in sight that he began to panic.  What if he had already left? The Sheriff had said for him to leave in the afternoon, and it was still morning, but what if Allan had also been unable to sleep and had prepared for his trip the night before?

He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Goat in the paddock; the horse was too small to be mistaken for any other. But perhaps Allan had taken another horse? Leaving his mare in with the stableboy to be turned into a stall, he rushed into the house only to be stopped by Adams, the steward. 

“Where is your master?” Guy demanded.

“Well, my lord, he’s . . .”

“Well?” Guy snapped impatiently.

The older man’s eyes widened.  “He’s having a bath in his room, my lord.”

Guy exhaled, so relieved that he almost put his hand on the man’s shoulder.

Adams peered up at him with concern.

“Would my lord like to wait in the . . .”

“No, thank you, umm . . . Adams. I’ll go up.  I know the way.”

The steward frowned, but he clearly knew better than to object. Taking his leave of Guy, he went about his business.

As Guy approached the master bedroom, he felt his trepidation rise again.  Just because Allan was there didn’t mean he would want to see him.  He had never refused to speak to him before, but then he had never accused him of anything so shameful before.  He tapped on the door gently.

“Yes, Adams?” Allan called from inside.

 ‘It’s, ah, not Adams, Allan. It’s me.”

The silence on the other side of the door had Guy pressing his ear against it, trying to decipher Allan’s wishes before he spoke them.

“Giz?” he cried, finally.  “Hold on.  Just let me finish washing up, and you can come in.  Don’t leave!” followed in an anxious tone.

Guy couldn’t stop the smile from crossing his face.  Even if Allan was angry, he was clearly eager to see him.  Things could be a lot worse.

Apparently, Allan was as nervous as he felt.  Within a few seconds, Guy heard the clang of something heavy falling on the floor and water splashing, in time with several loud curses from the man within.

“Do you need help, pet?”

He could imagine the exasperated expression on his lover’s face, and it made him smile again.

“Probably.  You can come in now.”

He opened the door to reveal Allan in the tub by the fireplace.  As Guy suspected, it was the perfect size to accommodate Allan’s height; the problem appeared to be the size of the buckets the servants had filled. One had half spilled on the floor when Allan dropped it; the other was so full it would be nearly impossible for him to pour it over his head, as he clearly intended to do since his hair was full of soap.

“What in God’s name are you doing, Allan?”

The smaller man shrugged helplessly.  “I was trying to get a bath before my trip, but it’s not as easy as I thought.  I expect Sir Edward had a body servant.”

“Well, I can be your body servant,” Guy offered.

Allan quirked an eyebrow at him and a sly smile played at the corners of his mouth.

“You’re hired.  Now, rinse me.”

Guy did as he was told, pouring the contents of both buckets over Allan’s head and shoulders until all the lather had disappeared.

“Thanks, now hand me that towel.”

He did, and then sat down on the bed as Allan stepped out of the bath and scrubbed the moisture from his hair and under his arms.  He watched a droplet of water as it made its way down the center of Allan’s chest and belly, below his navel to the patch of damp hair around his cock.  Just as his breath began to quicken, he remembered the reason for his visit and looked away.

“Allan, I . . . I’m sorry for what I said last night.  I know I can trust you, I just . . .”

“Giz, don’t,” he replied softly.  Guy felt his chest tighten.

“Don’t what?” he asked, looking back at him

Allan dropped the towel he had been drying with and sat down next to Guy, pressing his naked thigh against the taller man’s clothed one.  He reached to cup Guy’s jawline, turning his face so that their eyes met. He brushed his thumb along his cheekbone.

“Don’t feel like you have to explain to me why you’re scared.  I know the Sheriff is trying to woo me, to get me to turn on you.  He couldn’t be much more obvious.  And I know that must be terrifying for you.”

Guy’s heart started to pound.  It was obvious? It hadn’t seemed so to him until the previous morning. What did Allan know that he didn’t? He had just opened his mouth to ask when the smaller man lowered his hands to his neck and pulled him down into a long, slow kiss. Then he sat back and smiled at him.

“The Sheriff is wasting his time, Guy.  There’s nothing he can offer me that I want.  He got you out of a terrible situation, when you had no one else to turn to.  He didn’t do that for me, though.  You did.  You’ve given me everything I needed, and things I never knew I needed before.  I’ll always be loyal to you.  I understand if you can’t believe that, but it’s true.”

Guy’s heart was so full he could barely form words in his head. He started to speak and stopped several times before bending down to kiss Allan again, harder and hungrier.  Allan put his hands on his chest and pushed him back so that he had to brace himself on his palms and straddled his lap, returning his kisses with fervor.

“Why are still dressed?” he panted, his annoyance obvious though his voice was wrecked.

Guy chuckled.  “You’re the one who had the bath, remember?  If I started stripping as soon as I got here, that might seem presumptuous.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Giz,” Allan scoffed.  “You should always start stripping when you get here.”

Guy grinned as he took hold of Allan’s waist and flipped them over, Allan’s back pressing against the bed. He stood and quickly pulled off his clothes. Once he was naked, he climbed on top of Allan and pressed kisses down his neck and chest, feeling the smaller man shudder and arch his back when his lips wrapped around a hard nipple. He lay down between his legs and let out a moan when Allan cupped his arse, pressing Guy’s erection against his own.

“I want you to fuck me, Guy,” he whined into his ear.

He snapped his head up at that.  “Are you sure? It’s a long way to the inn tonight; you’ll be in the saddle for a long time.”

“So? I’ll be sore when I get there as it is.  I want to feel you for as long as I can; who knows when we’ll be together again?”

Guy didn’t try to answer that.  Instead, he pushed Allan backwards until his shoulders hit the headboard and slicked two fingers with oil from the bedside table.  Then he lay between his legs again, this time draping them over his own shoulders, and pressed inside his arse to twist and scissor until his passage began to relax. Guy lowered his head and slid his tongue in alongside his fingers.  He thrust in and out, feeling Allan throb around him.  When he pushed in so close that the tip of his nose pressed against the underside Allan’s ballsack, he groaned loudly.

“Do it now, Giz.  I . . . I can’t last.”

Guy sat up and applied more oil to his cock.  Wrapping his hand around the base, he lowered himself between Allan’s legs and pushed slowly inside him.  They had done this enough times since Allan’s move to Knighton that this part was no longer painful for him.  Guy gave a ragged groan when he was fully seated, and began trusting.  The heat of Allan’s body tight around his aching cock felt so good that he knew he wouldn’t last long either.  He gave a shorter, sharper thrust and heard his lover gasp as he clenched around him.  Guy snapped his hips faster, brushing against Allan’s prostate again and again until he was moaning and mumbling incoherently against his shoulder.  When he came with a long broken sob, Guy was not far behind him.  He pulled out, painting Allan’s chest and belly with white streaks before he collapsed next to him on the bed, panting.

“So much for taking a bath,” Allan mumbled with a sleepy chuckle a few minutes later.

Guy turned his head to smile at him, the crick he had woken up with completely forgotten. “Do you want me to . . .?”

“No, I’ll get up.  You rest; you’ve been working hard,” Allan insisted.  He stood and lifted the towel from the floor to wipe his front with it.  Guy sat up to watch intently, fascinated by Allan’s pale skin in the sunlight shining through the window.

“Enjoying the view, Giz?” Allan taunted with a grin.

“Definitely.  As you said, who knows when I’ll get the chance again?” He stretched and lay back with a sigh of contentment.  “What will I do with you gone? I’m going to go out of my mind.”

“Well, don’t you turn chaste on my account.  You find a girl to tend to your needs.  Or a boy.”

Guy gasped in mock horror as Allan lay down next to him again.  “What would Marian say? You’ll come home to find my skin stretched out in front of the fireplace at Locksley if I so much as touch a servant, or anyone in the village.”

Allan lay his head on Guy’s chest and wrapped an arm around him.  “Well, Marian doesn’t have to know everything,” he yawned.  “And you watch out for her.  She might prove even more dangerous than the Sheriff.”

Guy wanted to ask Allan what he meant by that, but his mind was already growing foggy with sleep.  From the way his lover’s breathing was slowing, Guy suspected that he was asleep already.  Within a few seconds, he had drifted off as well.

* * *

The sun was high when Guy shook Allan awake.

“Time to get up, pet, or you won’t arrive at the inn until after dark.  You don’t want that.”

Allan grumbled and attempted to snuggle into Guy’s arms again, but the taller man stood up and pulled his legs around the side of the bed, forcing him to sit up.  By the time Allan was fully dressed, with considerable help from Guy, he was resigned to his trip.

Guy saw him to the main road, giving him tips and going over his list of items to deliver and other duties until Allan finally cried, “Enough, Giz! Are you sure you don’t want to come along?”

“I’d love to, but we can’t both go and leave the Sheriff unsupervised.  He’d probably start razing every house in a ten mile radius out of pure boredom if there were no one here to stop him.  And he’d start with Locksley.”

Allan gave him a knowing smirk; Guy knew he was aware of the real reason he couldn’t go, but he felt grateful that he didn’t make him admit it.

Upon arriving at the road, the two men dismounted and shared a final long hug.

“Come back as fast you can,” Guy pleaded, and Allan squeezed him tightly in response. Once he had climbed up on Goat’s back again, he leaned down to give him a soft kiss on the lips.

Guy watched him ride off until he disappeared, fighting back the tears that threatened to well up in his eyes.  What was he going to do without Allan? His lover had joked about his need for sex, but he had done without before and could do so again.  But who would give reassurance and comfort when the Sheriff raged and ridiculed him? Who would understand him when he lashed out? Marian? There were reasons why she had recoiled from him when they were first married, and he feared he was about to remind her of what those reasons were.


	18. Hands

Guy returned to Locksley after seeing Allan off so late that Marian had begun to worry about him.  He missed dinner, but Edith had put some of the stew in a pot on the fire and left out some bread so that he might have it upon his return.  The gesture made Marian smile; though she still rarely spoke to him, she could tell that the frostiness of the servant’s regard for her master was beginning to thaw. 

When he finally arrived, though, he was not hungry.  He stood next to Marian’s chair and told her that he wanted to go straight to bed.  Downstairs.  That concerned her at first.  Was he still upset with her about the previous night? She started to ask, but the flash of worry in his eyes when she opened her mouth stopped her.  She thought back to how she had felt after Robin left. She had cried herself to sleep the first night, and on more than one night since.  Perhaps Guy thought it likely that he would do the same, and did not want her lying next to him, bearing witness to his inability to control his emotions.

“Sleep well,” she said, reaching up to grip his arm just above the elbow in a comforting gesture.  For a moment, his brow creased as he looked down at her hand, and she suddenly realized that it was the first time she had touched him deliberately since their kiss two months earlier.  Had she overstepped again?  She sighed inwardly with relief when the corners of Guy’s mouth twitched into a little smile.  “Good night, Marian,” he replied, gently pulling his arm out of her grasp and walking away.

* * *

The next afternoon, Matilda arrived to pay her weekly visit.

“You’re doing very well in terms of your health, my lady, but that dress is a bit too tight,” the midwife commented with her usual bluntness.

Marian looked down at her rounded belly and couldn’t help smiling. “I agree.  I wanted to alter as many of my old dresses as possible, but I don’t think I can take most of them out any further without it being obvious.”

Matilda nodded in agreement.  “And remember, too, you won’t be this size forever.  And once the child is born, if you think you’re going to have time for putting them back as they were . . . ha! You had better think again.”

Marian suspected that her smile had turned unconvincing.  She was barely prepared to think about becoming more and more obviously pregnant with Robin gone. The idea that the child could be born before his return did not bear thinking about. 

“I suppose I need to go fabric shopping then, in Nottingham.”

Matilda nodded.  “Look in at Knighton on your way, too,” she advised.  “Bess has been asking about you.  She’s worried, and she’s not the only one.  Everywhere I go, people are asking about you.”

“You haven’t told them?” Marian asked, almost timidly.  If people knew she was getting regular visits from Matilda, many had probably already guessed, but she was not quite ready to deal with the visits that an admission would bring.

“No, I haven’t told them about the baby, but no one has seen you except for that one time you went to Knighton.  That’s why they’re worried.  For all they know, Gisborne has locked you up in your room and is starving you, beating you . . . I don’t need to go on, do I?”

Marian frowned in consternation; were people really so worried that Guy was mistreating her? Had they been this worried after the wedding? For a moment, she considered asking, but decided instead to keep her focus on Matilda.

“Well, what have you been telling them?”

The midwife sighed.  “I’ve told them you’re as well as can be expected.  They don’t know why you’re living with Gisborne.  Of course they know why you left Knighton; you told them. But why he moved back to Locksley after keeping away for so long is anyone’s guess.  They may think he’s taking advantage of Robin’s absence.”

Marian was surprised by how defensive she suddenly felt; how could people believe something so far from the truth? Of course she hadn’t wanted to marry Guy, and she knew that was widely known, but now? She didn’t know what she would do if she hadn’t married him.

“You’re leaving them to imagine the worst then. You know how much Guy has helped me; why haven’t you told them that?”

Matilda’s expression darkened.  “You want me to tell them that he’s been sleeping in your bed for the past two months? How do you think that will go over; what will they think?”

“That I’m sleeping with my husband? As most wives do?” Marian offered sarcastically.

The older woman shook her head.  “Do you really think people are so naïve? They know that you and Robin love each other, that you belong together.  And now Gisborne is in Robin’s place, in more ways than one! How do you think it will look if you’re known to be consenting to that? You cannot keep your good name with both the nobles and the common people, my lady.  Just as the Sheriff has to believe, when your pregnancy is known, that the child is Gisborne’s, the people have to believe you would only have Robin’s child.  By choice, anyway.”

It was a long time before Marian could reply to that; she was too deeply lost in thought.  She hated the idea of being thought of as a victim when she was not, but she could think of no alternative.  However much she might try to reason her way out of it, she knew Matilda was right.

“It’s more complicated than that,” she finally said, weakly.

Matilda just shrugged.  “It always is, love, but no one cares. Even if Gisborne has been kind to _you_ , which, I’ll admit, he has been, you can’t expect the people to forget how wickedly he’s treated them. Ah, speak of the devil,” she said with a wry smile as the front door creaked open.

Marian sighed inwardly when Guy stepped in; why did he always have to arrive at the worst possible moments?

“Marian,” he said, barely paying any attention to her guest. “I was nearby and just thought I’d stop in. Is there anything you need?”

She tried to appear unperturbed. “No, Guy. Thank you.  We were just . . . Matilda was telling me that people are getting concerned about me.”

Guy scowled.  “Concerned?”

“I recommend that she return to Knighton, and announce that she’s expecting,” Matilda piped in.

He finally looked at her. “Oh you do, do you?” he sneered.  “Why? To save her good name with the outlaws?”

The midwife ignored the sarcasm in his tone.  “See, Marian? He understands.  And you’ll be much better off where you can do some good.”

That was the first Marian had heard of that idea.  “What good might I do at Knighton that I can’t do here?”

“Well, there are a number of families in need of shelter, all of a sudden. It might be possible that some of them might be able to keep warm at night in the hall, if the lady were present, that is.  The lord might not be happy about it, but he’s not there is he?”

“No, Allan is in London.  But he wouldn’t mind even if he were there.” Marian answered, blinking in confusion.  “Why do they need shelter? What’s happened to their cottages?”

Matilda sat back in her chair and jerked her chin towards Guy. “Ask him.”

She glanced up, bewildered.  Guy was looking down at the floor, partially turned away from her.”

“What does she mean?”

He signed and looked up at her.  “The Sheriff wants his mercenaries closer, to have them on call in case of . . . attack.  We . . . we had to empty some cottages for them.”

Marian felt a sense of horror settle into the pit of her stomach.  She hadn’t asked Guy about his work since the day he had moved back in.  Now she didn’t know if she regretted that more, or the fact that Matilda chose to tell her about it in his presence.

“And that’s not all, I don’t think,” Matilda added.  Looking up at Guy, she asked, “did you really come all the way from some other village just to see Marian?”

Guy glared at her.  “Woman, why can’t you mind your own damned business?” he snapped.

“Guy,” Marian chided.  He looked back at her and took a deep, slow breath, relaxing.

“They’re not . . . you haven’t forced people out of Locksley, have you?”

He gave a helpless shrug. “How can I order them out of everyone’s lands but mine, Marian? How would that look?”

Marian bit back her answer.  She wanted to tell him exactly how it looked to her: that she thought he had made progress, but he had done no such thing.  But she knew her disappointment would not help: not the peasants or her husband. “You had better go back, Guy,” she muttered.  “But we’ll talk about this later.”

He sighed in exasperation.  “Good.  Now I have that to look forward to as well.” He gave Marian a nod and left without saying another word.

As soon as he was gone, Matilda turned to her.  “Well, there he goes.  Your lord and master.”

“You didn’t have to embarrass him like that,” Marian retorted sharply, surprising even herself.  Matilda’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open.

“I’m . . . sorry,” Marian continued.  “Of course, I’m horrified by what he’s doing.  You know how I care about the people here. But I also know he’s under a lot of strain today. He’s used to having Allan with him, and now he’s gone and the Sheriff has only Guy to bully.  And his living with me has . . . created a bit of a rift in their relationship.  You could have told me after he left.”

Matilda looked at her askance for a moment, narrowing her eyes as though she was trying to work out a puzzle.  Finally, she shrugged.  “You’re probably right, my lady.  I won’t goad him again.  But this is all the more reason for you to announce that you’re pregnant.  It will give him an obvious reason to have come to live with you.  After all, he’s been here almost since you found out.”

Marian nodded.  “Alright, then.  I’ll do as you say.  I’ll go to Knighton and Nottingham as soon as possible, and you may tell anyone who asks about me.  You can probably spread the word faster than I can.

* * *

That evening at dinner, Guy was even more depressed than he had been the night before.  He barely spoke, and ate slowly.  Marian hoped that meant he had eaten something during the day, having missed dinner, but she suspected worse.

“Is the stew alright, Guy? Would you prefer something else?” she asked.

Though she spoke in a soft tone, he jumped as though she had shouted at him. “What? No, this is good.  I just . . . I haven’t had much of an appetite these past two days.”

She looked at him for a moment in silence, thinking about the previous evening when she had touched his arm.  He hadn’t seemed to mind that, and she wanted to comfort him again. Reaching out her hand, she placed it over the black fabric of his shirt covering his wrist. He looked down at her hand again, and then up at her face questioningly, but made no attempt to move away from her.

“Do you miss Allan?”

He gave a dry little laugh.  “You have no idea.”

Marian sighed.  She most certainly did have an idea, but she decided to let his carelessness go. “So it was bad today?”

At that, Guy did withdraw his arm from her, wrapping both around himself.

“It was even worse than I expected,” he muttered at his dish before looking up at her.  “He hates me, Marian.”

His words chilled her.  He often complained about the Sheriff to her, but this was the first time he had put things so harshly.

“Well, he’s always rude.”

“No, not like this,” Guy insisted. “He would barely look at me until I asked a question or did something he didn’t like.  Then he just started screaming at me.  He’s never been so paranoid before.”

“Is that why he’s emptying cottages for the mercenaries?” she asked.

Guy took a deep breath, as though this was the moment he had been waiting for.

“I suppose.”

Marian bit her lip thoughtfully, knowing she would have to proceed with caution.

“Do you . . . do you have any idea where they went? The tenant?”

He sighed and shrugged.  “I did see some go into the neighboring cottages.  I suppose they’re staying there.”

Marian nodded.  “The reason why I’m asking,” she went on cautiously, “is that Matilda thought some of them might find shelter at Knighton, while Allan is away.”

Guy looked at her again, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

“You wouldn’t . . . interfere, would you?” she went on

He blinked a few times before answering.  “No . . . no, I wouldn’t stop them.  I’m not helping them move . . .” Then he paused for a moment.  “Is that why you’re wanting to go back to Knighton?”

That was enough to surprise her. “Who said I was going back to Knighton?”

“Well, Matilda said you should.”

She considered a moment, and decided to tell him the truth. “Matilda would have had me back before now.  She thinks Bess can look after me better since she has less to do than Edith.”

Guy lifted his elbows to the table and leaned forward to rest his forehead against his interlocked fingers, as though waiting for the blow to fall.  Marian felt a stab of sympathy for him.  He had just lost his only friend and lover, and now expected to lose her too. 

She got up to stand beside him, placing the palms of her hands on his shoulders. He jumped at that too, jerking his head up, but he seemed to relax as she massaged the muscles at the juncture of his shoulder and neck.  As she rubbed, she continued.

“If I went, though, who would look after you? I know we decided that you would only stay until my pregnancy was made known, but I won’t have you go back to the castle when the Sheriff is treating you like this. That’s out of the question.  And I have no desire to leave Locksley.  This is my home now.” She paused, thinking for a moment. “And after you’ve done so much for me, it would be ungrateful for me to abandon you.”

Guy said nothing, but breathed a sigh of relief and let his head drop forward again, baring the nape of his neck.  Marian couldn’t resist raising one of her hands to stroke it, burying her hand in his hair and then brushing her fingertips down to the top of his spine. When she made this motion again, this time pressing lightly with her fingernails, Guy gasped and almost jumped out of his seat.  He stood up and looked down at her, eyes-wide, a bright flush coloring his cheeks. She felt her pulse quicken with anxiety.

“Now you’ve done it, Marian,” she thought to herself.  She didn’t know what had come over her.  “Guy, I’m sorry, I . . .”

He relaxed a little and raised a hand to silence her. “You don’t have to apologize,” he said softly, his blush darkening as he looked around, flustered.  “I just . . . I wasn’t expecting that.”

“I shouldn’t have,” she said, vaguely wondering if she was blushing herself.  “I know you don’t like me to touch you, but . . .”

“I don’t . . . not like it,” Guy cut in uncertainly.  “You just . . . I haven’t had a chance to get used that that.” After a pause, he added, “from you.”

Marian was certain she was blushing then.  Why couldn’t she just keep her hands to herself?

Neither of them spoke for a moment, until Guy broke the silence with “I’m going to bed early, I think.”

 “Good, I’m tired too,” Marian piped in with relief. “Do you want me to go up first and wait?”

“I think I’m going to sleep down here.”

“What? Again?” she exclaimed, cursing inwardly.  Perhaps she had offended him with her errant hand after all.

Guy gave her an embarrassed little smile.  “I’ll come up as usual tomorrow night.  I just . . . I’d like some time to myself.”

“Alright,” was her only reply; she didn’t want to risk any more trouble.  But as she turned to go, she thought she heard Guy speak again.

“What’s that?” she asked, looking over her shoulder.

“I said ‘thank you.’ Thanks for not leaving me here alone.”

She smiled.  “You’re welcome, Guy.  Goodnight.”  



	19. Taking Measurements

The next afternoon, Guy came by again to check on her and to let her know that he had arranged for one of his most trusted officers to bring a wagon for her and convey her wherever she pleased to go the following day.

“I would have liked it to be earlier, but the Sheriff has so much for us to do today that I really can’t spare him.”

“That’s perfectly alright Guy,” she replied. “Tomorrow is fine, and thank you.” She wanted to ask him if they were still forcing people out of local cottages, but decided against it. She could hardly help the people or Guy by putting further pressure on him.

When he had left, she went up to her room to go through the contents of her chest. She had sufficient needles, thread, and measuring tape, but none of her patterns were right for maternity wear.  And there was something else she wanted to make.  She decided to go and consult with Edith.

The servant left Ruth in charge of the kitchen and Marian followed her to her warm but sparse cottage nearby.  Within a few minutes, she had patterns for two warm winter dresses that would fit around what would be her then five months pregnant belly with some room for further growth and one for a man’s shirt.

“Are you sure this will keep him warm in the winter?”

“Aye, my lady.  And cool in the summer.  The only difficulty will be getting someone so particular to wear it!”

Marian chuckled softly.  “Well, you leave that to me.”

* * *

That night when Guy came up for bed, she made a surprising request.

“Guy, I need to take some measurements.  Please take your shirt off.”

He went perfectly still except for his raised eyebrows. “You need to what?”

Marian bit back a smile at his shocked expression.  “I’m going shopping for fabric tomorrow and I want to make something for you.”

His features softened. “Oh, Marian, you don’t have to . . .” he began.

“Come on, Guy.  Please?” she pleaded, cutting him off. “When I get bigger it will be harder for me to sew.  This is probably the only chance you’ll get.”

“Well, if it’s my last chance,” he said with a smirk, sitting down on the bed.

“No no no!” she chided, taking hold of his elbow.  “You have to stand up for the measuring so I can be precise.”

Guy did as he was told, but as he looked down at her his lips quirked up further.  “How are you going to measure me from down there?”

She rolled her eyes with a little scoff.  “Can you help me up on the bed? After you take your shirt off?”

The smirk dropped from Guy’s face.  “That’s necessary?”

Her smile widened.  “Come on, Guy.  If you have to take it off to be fitted for armor, you have to for something you’ll actually wear against your skin, don’t you?”

She thought she saw the trace of a blush color his face. “I can’t believe you remember that,” he muttered.

As she nodded, Marian was close to blushing herself.  She hadn’t thought of it when she made that comment, but now she could remember how it had felt to be so close to all that smooth skin and toned muscle. And how badly she had wanted to touch it. Possibly not a good thing to be reminded of now that it was just about to happen again. 

It did put her on her guard against gasping when he pulled his shirt up, revealing his belly and chest.  Her chance to drink in the sight was all too fleeting, though, because he stared at her expectantly as soon as he had drawn it over his head.

“Good,” she said a little too loudly, “now, put your hands on my waist to support me while I climb up.”

As Guy reached for her, she could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down in his throat.  At least it was some comfort that he was nervous too, she thought to herself. She put her hand on his bare shoulder and felt his hands clasp her waist.  They felt even larger than they looked somehow, and she had the fleeting thought that if she were her normal size they might come close to wrapping around her completely. Suddenly it felt too warm in the room; she knew she would have to work quickly.

“Pick up my little book and write these numbers down as I call them out, please.  Then come back as you were,” she ordered.

Guy obeyed, going to stand in front of her again. She stretched the tape in her hand across the width of his shoulders, giving him the number.  The she wrapped the tape around the base of his neck.  As she was moving her hand to check the number, her fingers slid up and brushed over his pulse.  It was pounding so hard that she almost dropped the tape in her surprise.

“Guy, are you alright?” she asked as he wrote down the second number she had given him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m . . . mmm . . . fine” he stammered softly. Then he cleared his throat.  “Is this going to take much longer?” She thought she heard the trace of panic in his voice.

“Not much longer.”

She braced herself on his shoulders as she climbed off the bed, not wanting to make him more uncomfortable by having him touch her again. She bade him stretch out his arm and measured him from shoulder to wrist, then wrapped the tape around his wrist, calling out both numbers and then writing them down herself.

“Just one more spot, and I . . . I think you might want to measure yourself there.  It’s your waist.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, exhaling with relief. “I would prefer that.”

 

As she stood next to him, he wrapped the tape around himself, and she grasped his wrist to stop him when the tape reached the appropriate position. Then she called the number and wrote it down before placing the book back on the bedside table.

“Alright, Guy, we’re finished.  You can get dressed again.”

As he did so, he asked, “You’re making me a shirt then?”

“A couple of shirts I should think,” she replied, rolling her measuring tape up neatly.  “Pants would be even more . . . difficult to measure you for.  Besides, I like your pants.”

When she looked at him again, she saw that he looked calmer, though his eyebrows were raised again. “I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” she said with a smile, settling down on the bed on her side.

Guy blew out the candle and she felt the bed sink as he climbed in.  He was not quite ready to go to sleep, though.

“What kind of shirts are you making me?”

“Hmm.  I don’t think I’ll tell you,” she replied with a yawn.  “Let it be a surprise.”

“This from the woman who does not like surprises,” he muttered.

She smiled in the darkness.  “I should have been clearer then.  I don’t like _getting_ them.  I never said anything about giving them. Goodnight, Guy.”

* * *

The next morning, Guy’s man arrived with the wagon, and Marian asked him to drive her to Knighton first.  Once she had told Adams of Matilda’s plan, he dispatched a servant to Locksely to invite the evicted peasants and sent others to prepare the hall for their arrival.  As soon as the plans were settled, however, she found herself monopolized by the steward’s wife, Bess.

“Oh, my dear! I was so sorry to miss you when you came before.  Of course I asked my husband how you were, but you know what men are like. I’m so glad I to see you now. It grieved me to hear about the terrible state you’re in.”

Marian blinked in confusion. “What terrible state is that?” She couldn’t remember anyone seemed alarmed when she had visited only a month before.  Bess considered herself a good friend of Matilda’s, and Marian was sure she had interrogated her for details at any available opportunity.  Bess was Knighton’s chief busybody.

“Well, being with child by that man, of course! But there’s nothing to be done for it now.  I hope he hasn’t been too cruel to you since.”

“Since what?”

“Well since he . . .” Bess stopped, looking around as though suspecting one of the lower servants might be eavesdropping.  “Since he forced himself on you!” she continued in a low hiss.

“What? He didn’t!” Marian was so taken aback she was certain her shock must have shown in her face.  What could possibly make the woman so confident that Guy had raped her?

Bess gave a sad, knowing smile.  “It’s alright, my lady. Of course you would want to wait until it was impossible to deny: the shame of it all! But please understand, my lady.  You have done nothing wrong.  This kind of thing happens to all young women forced into marriages with violent men.  It’s never their fault, the poor dears.  Now, tell me frankly; is it still happening?”

Marian thought of what Matilda had said to her earlier that week.  As much as she hated to be thought more a victim than she was, it could not hurt for Bess to believe that Guy was the baby’s father for the time being. Especially since whatever she believed tended to circulate through the estate with surprising speed.

She wanted to insist that Guy would never harm her.  But then how would she explain her pregnancy? What would Bess, who had known her for most of her life, think worse? The idea that she had lain with her husband of her own free will, or that she had slept with Robin while married to someone else? As much as it pained her, she decided to be vague.

“Sir Guy has been keeping his distance,” she replied.  He’s been . . . gentle.” Her mind turned back to the previous night, when Guy had been so nervous about touching her and being touched by her.  That, at least, was not a lie.

Bess gave a snort.  “Well, of course he _would_ want to make sure his firstborn was safe.  I do pity the child, though.  We can only hope that Robin will accept the poor thing as his own when he returns.”

That too made Marian start.  “Yes, I hope so too.”

After that, the older woman seemed content to let the subject go.  Marian was grateful when the topic of conversation turned from her to various gossip about servants at Knighton that she had been unaware of at Knighton. She had to interrupt Bess several times to give necessary instructions for what the incoming peasants would need. Though it took some time, and considerable effort, Marian was finally able to extract herself.

“I’m so glad that you were free this afternoon, and thank you so much for keeping me informed, but I really have to be on my way so I can get all my shopping done nightfall.”

Bess nodded and pulled her into an embrace.

“God bless you, my dear.  I don’t suppose you’ve given any more thought to moving back here, have you? Matilda told me you were set against the idea.”

Marian’s heart sank.  She had been dreading that topic being raised, and was almost safely on her way without it being broached.

“I’m afraid I am.  I . . . I think I have to stay at Locksley.”

Bess nodded again, sadly.  “Yes.  It can seem impossible to escape such unhappy circumstances, but know that I am always here for you if you change your mind.  You’ve been very brave, and I’m very proud of you.  I know that your father would be too.”

Marian smiled and squeezed her hand before seeing herself out.

* * *

She had been looking forward to shopping for her fabrics, but the meeting with Bess had soured her mood.  As the selected the materials, feeling them and holding them up to check their weight and texture, she found herself grow less and less angry with the steward’s wife and more with herself.  Of course the servants at Knighton thought Guy was a monster; what reason had she ever given them to think otherwise? She herself had slept with a knife under her pillow, even on the first nights after the wedding when she was far too sore from her stab wound to use it if needed. If she had thought Guy capable of raping her, why wouldn’t anyone else? All they knew was that she had been compelled to marry him, under what they later learned were false pretenses, and that she had returned home after only two months of marriage to nurse her father.  And because she could no longer stand being at Locksley; she didn’t know why she was so hesitant to admit that how.  She certainly had not been at the time!

But she never told anyone that Guy had been almost desperate to please her when she had lived with him before.  And she certainly had not told them that he knew of her relationship with Robin.  In light of her current circumstances, she felt how foolish that decision had been, though it had never occurred to her at the time.  Yes, the responsibility for this fell entirely on her shoulders, and only she could sort it out.

She couldn’t help thinking of something else Bess had said too. Though she did her best not to consider the possibility of Robin’s not returning, there had been some late nights back when she was still getting sick that she had not been strong enough to keep the negative thoughts at bay.  On those nights, she had taken some comfort in her conviction that Guy would raise their child as his own, as long as it meant that he could be with her.  Now she found herself wondering if Robin would do the same if their situations were reversed.  Of course, Robin loved children; he would not hold the child’s parentage against him.  But would he ever forgive her if she gave herself to Guy? She simply didn’t know.

The more pressing matter was how she would manage her visitors from Locksley.  Because they were so much closer, both to the manor physically and to Robin in understanding and loyalty, they would have an entirely different set of expectations and assumptions. As she paid for her purchases and left the shop, it occurred to her that they could begin arriving as early as the next morning.  Would she be ready for them?


	20. The Glove

Marian was right.  After Guy had left for the castle, she was just settling down with her fabric and pattern when a servant announced that Eleri and her baby daughter had come to visit.  The first connection between Marian and the young woman had been made when Guy stole Eleri’s necklace, her family’s only valuable heirloom, and gave it to her. It was that event that had set their marriage in motion.  At first, she had been hesitant to befriend this woman.  Not because of her low birth, or because she blamed her for happenings that were clearly beyond her control, but because she felt a bit jealous of her.  When she first lived at Locksley, she had tried to get to know as many of its peasants as she could, and it was shortly after her marriage to Guy that Eleri had discovered that she was pregnant.  At least five different people had told Marian that, and while she had given the young woman her warmest congratulations, a small, spiteful part of her had thought, “that should have been me.”  She should have married the man she actually loved, and born his children.  Now that she was carrying Robin’s child, she understood that it was a far more complicated situation than she had believed a year earlier.

She must have hidden her resentment well at the time for Eleri to be so eager to come to see her. 

“You must be so excited!” she exclaimed, beaming as she bounced her baby on her lap.

Marian felt a bit bewildered.  “Thank you,” she replied, uncertainly.

“It will be such a wonderful surprise for Robin when he returns.”

“I . . . hope so,” Marian replied, pressing her lips together in a straight line.  Even if Robin returned tomorrow, there would be some things about her situation that he would hardly find “wonderful.”

“Aren’t you glad?” Eleri asked with a concerned frown, picking up on Marian’s silence.

“I’m . . . well.  It’s complicated.”

The young mother nodded.  “Because of Gisborne,” she said with conviction.

Marian knitted her brows. It was clear that proximity to the manor did not lead to greater understanding on all accounts.

Eleri’s frown deepened at this silence.  “His being here shows that he thinks he’s claimed you as his own.  Robin will have to deal with him when he comes back no matter what, but to find him living here after being gone for long! His presence will make things complicated for Robin.”

“His presence is the only thing that will protect me when the Sheriff learns that I’m pregnant,” Marian blurted out in exasperation. She was the one left alone and pregnant, of which Robin was blissfully unaware.  How could the complications he would face be more pressing than what she was dealing with at present?

The young woman’s eyes widened, and on her lap the baby began to cry.  She lifted her to her shoulder, and rubbed her back, not making eye contact with Marian.

“What I mean is,” Marian began again more calmly, “Sir Guy’s presence here is a necessary complication.  I asked him to come.  He knows the child is not his.  We haven’t . . . we haven’t done anything to make him think it might be his.”

Eleri’s expression softened a bit, but a trace of suspicion was still visible in her eyes. “Well, thank God for that.  We were all worried that he would force himself on you after the wedding.  Honestly, I spent half of _my_ wedding night worried that he would knock on our door and demand first right! But Edith convinced us that was not the case.”

Marian gave a genuine smile at that.  At least one person besides herself knew that Guy was not a monster.  “No, he didn’t.  But if he knows he’s not the father, who do you imagine he believes is?”

Eleri lowered her now quiet baby back onto her lap and gave a shrug. “I couldn’t say, my lady.”

“He knows it’s Robin.  I told him so.”

“What?” Eleri gasped.  “Forgive me, but isn’t that . . . reckless?”

Now Marian shrugged.  “Is it? He’s been living here for over two months now with no reprisals.  How do you explain that?”

The young woman shook her head, her eyes still wide with shock.  “I can’t explain it, my lady, but he’s an evil man.  He must have evil reasons.”

Marian had no reply to that; she simply turned her attention back to her sewing.  After a long, awkward silence, Eleri changed the subject.

“What is that you’re making, my lady?”

Marian glanced at her pattern for Guy’s shirt again, and cursed herself inwardly for leaving it out where it could be seen.  But it was too late for her to hide it now.

“Oh that’s just . . . something I just started this morning.”

Her guest would not be put off by that vague answer.  “It looks like a man’s shirt.”

“It is.”

“Who’s it for?” Eleri asked with curiosity, but Marian flinched inwardly. To her, it sounded like an accusation.

“Oh it’s . . . it’s for Allan.”

“Allan? Why on earth are you making Allan shirts? He’s not even here.” She tilted her head to the side in confusion.

“Because it’s safer!” Marian thought to herself, but she said, “I just have so much time here now that I’m forbidden from riding.  I’ve been bored; I’d sew anything for anyone who needed it.”

“Oh, don’t I know what that’s like,” Eleri cried.  “Just you wait until your about seven months along, and too wide to do anything.  I truly thought I was going to go out of my mind.”

Marian breathed a sigh of relief.  Finally, a topic she could discuss without having to lie or involve herself in a new scandal.  The two of them continued to talk about what she should expect later in her pregnancy until it was time for Eleri to leave.  Marian bid her a warm farewell, hoping inwardly that she would remember the end of their conversation more than the contentious beginning.  She really couldn’t afford any more to worry about.

And yet as she continued with her sewing, she realized that she couldn’t escape unpleasant thoughts about her new situation. It was one thing for her to regret not being more forthcoming at Knighton about Guy’s kindness to her, but Locksley had not been her responsibility until she arrived two months earlier.  She had gotten along well with all the peasants she had visited, and had before after the wedding.  But the conversation with Eleri confirmed something she had long suspected; the people loved her because they loved Robin. That was all well and good while Robin was here, but was it enough for her to have the people’s support in his absence? She simply didn’t know.

What she did know now was that the people of Locksley were entirely unfamiliar with what Guy had done to help her and Robin, and there was a very simple reason for that. Robin had not told them.  They all knew enough to praise Robin for going to save the king; that had not been news to any of them.  Neither had the fact that Robin had visited her at Locksley and was the father of her child.  And yet in none of her visits did anyone so much as mention Guy’s name without disgust or sympathy for her for having to live with him. They had no idea that Guy had given Robin information about the black knights’ plans. Robin had not had time to tell anyone about the departure plans before he had to depart himself, but Guy had helped him in smaller ways for two months prior.  And it had been six months since she had told Guy about her relationship with Robin: six months of him protecting their secret from the Sheriff, and Robin hadn’t seen fit to mention that to anyone. Perhaps he thought Guy had done too much evil for that to make any difference to their view of him, and maybe he was right.  But he could have let them decide that for themselves.  And she was certain that recognition of Guy’s better side would be more convincing coming from Robin than from her.

* * *

“You’re quiet this evening,” Guy observed as they finished dinner that evening, a note of worry in his voice. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh?  It feels like I’ve been talking all day.  Usually, it’s just the servants and me here, and they’re too busy for conversation.  But today I’ve had visitors.”

“Did you? Who visited?”

“Eleri and her baby.”

Marian could tell from the blank look on Guy’s face that he had no idea who she was talking about.  She decided not to explain.  The only description that might recall his memory was one that would shame him, and that was not what she wanted this conversation to be about.

“It’s made me realize,” she continued, not giving him a chance to ask any questions, “that having my pregnancy known comes with complications I hadn’t foreseen.”

Guy’s back stiffened.  “What complications?” he asked warily.

“Misunderstandings.  About the child’s parentage.” She paused.  “And about you.”

He uncomfortably in his seat and looked away from her.  “Go on,” he said.

Marian took a deep breath.  “The thing is, people here, and at Knighton, don’t understand why you’re here.  Some think you are the child’s father and are . . . holding me prisoner in Robin’s absence.  Others know that Robin is, but still think you have some wicked agenda.  All of them see you as a problem Robin will have to deal with upon his return.”

Guy’s frown shifted into a wry smirk.  “Does any of that surprise you? They’ve always hated me, especially here.  And I haven’t done anything to change their minds about me in the past six years.”

Marian stared at him hard, thinking about her reply, until he looked away again. She felt a pang of regret; he probably  thought she was going to criticize him.

She moved closer and lay a hand on his arm.

“Yes you have.  They just don’t know about it.  They want Robin to have a healthy child and for me to be happy.  But they don’t see how difficult that would be if I were left her on my own the way . . . the way Robin left me.”

Guy looked at her out of the corner of his eye.  “I don’t care what any of them think.  I never have.  I know you’ll tell me that’s the problem, but I just . . .”

“No.” Marian exclaimed, squeezing his arm.  “I mean . . . yes, that’s part of the problem, but there’s also the Sheriff.  He didn’t have to give you lands belonging to someone he knew was still living.  He doesn’t have to order you to terrorize people.” Here she trailed off, knowing that what she was about to say could never be unsaid. “It’s also Robin’s fault.  And mine.”

His eyes widened in disbelief.  “How is it your fault?”

Marian had to fight against rolling her eyes. “Because I know there’s another side to you now, just as you told me before we were married.  I know that you care for me, and for Allan, and you would do anything to keep us from harm.  Robin knows that too, but neither of us have told anyone that.  That was wrong of us.”

Guy looked down at the table and turned his body away from her as much as he could without pulling out of her grasp. Marian could see the hint of a blush on his cheeks.

“You mustn’t say that,” he whispered.  “Not to them.  It won’t accomplish anything but making them think less of you.  And Allan.  And I know that’s not what you want.  To them, you belong to Robin and they . . .”

He trailed off as Marian released his arm to clasp his gloved hand.  “I know that’s what they think, but there is more to me than that. You _know_ there is more to me than that.  You . . .”

She looked down at his hand in hers and frowned at the barrier separating them.  Remembering how warm his bare shoulder had felt under her hand, she wanted that connection of skin on skin.  She took hold of the leather and tugged it away from his wrist.  It was more difficult than she expected; the fit was snug, and her mouth twisted in concentration as she pulled hard.  She gave a gasp of triumph as she removed it, dropping the glove on the table and entwining his long fingers in her own.

“You care about me for myself, not because of Robin.  You know that I have needs when he’s not there to meet them.  You . . . Guy, what’s wrong?”

Guy’s blush had darkened and his eyes were dilated.  He had been staring down at their joined hands with open mouthed shock, but turned away in embarrassment when she spoke.  She looked down too and noticed that her thumb was stroking his forefinger, almost without conscious will.  She stilled the motion, lifting her eyes to meet his gaze again.

“You’re holding my hand,” he pointed out in a tremulous voice.

“Yes . . . do you want me to stop?”

“It’s a little . . . um . . . distracting” he replied.

Marian frowned in confusion for a moment.  Then she realized.

“Oh, Guy . . . I . . . I didn’t . . . I didn’t mean to . . .” she stammered, releasing his hand completely.

He gave a bitter little laugh, still looking down at the table.  “Oh, I know you didn’t mean anything, Marian.  I didn’t mean for this to happen either, but . . . it’s out of my control.”

Marian felt herself blush too, and a more surprising heat flared in her core. She felt embarrassed, and yet she had no desire to be away from him.

“What do you want me to do, Guy? Do you want me to leave?”

He sighed and shook his head. “You don’t have to go away, just . . . can we please talk about something else?”

Marian’s mind raced, searching for another topic amid her confused feelings.  “I . . . I can show you what I’m making for you? I just need to get it from the table in the hall.”

Guy smiled weakly.  “Go ahead.  I won’t be going anywhere for a little while.”

As she got up and walked away, she felt an overwhelming gratitude for the reprieve.  She didn’t think she could have sat there for a minute longer without humiliating herself even more.  And yet, ttry as she might to ignore what I just happened, she couldn’t shake her sense of amazement that she had been able to arouse him with such a simple touch. 

By the time she returned to the dinner table, her heart had slowed and she no longer felt so flushed.  As she opened her knitting bag and produced a roll of deep grey cloth, to hand to him, she noticed that he looked more relaxed as well.

“I haven’t started on this one yet, but I thought you’d like the color.”

Guy began to unroll the material, scrutinizing it closely. “It’s bit light for my taste, but I like the feel of it,” he pronounced.

“Good!  This one is the same material, but the color will . . . broaden your horizons.”

She took the forest green roll out of her bag, biting back a smile as Guy’s eyes widened.

“That’s . . . quite a color, Marian.”

“Well, it won’t hurt you, Guy.  This is one of my favorites; it reminds me of the woods.” She almost let herself laugh at the face he was making.  His forehead was furrowed and his lips pressed into a tight line, as though he wanted so badly to criticize but was fighting against himself so as not to hurt her feelings.

It was impossible to stop the grin that spread across her face when she pulled out the bright burgundy shirt she had already started knitting.

His lips pressed even tighter and his eyes narrowed.

“No, Marian,” he said sharply, making her laugh aloud.

“Yes, Marian.  It took me a while to decide on the dark green and grey, but this I knew immediately had to be one of the colors I chose for you.  It’s a great color for you; brings out the blue in your eyes.”

His raised his light eyes to the ceiling before glaring again at the offending shirt.  “How do you know that’s a good color for me?”

“Because you wore a scarf this color at our wedding.  You’ll remember that I said I was pleased with you.”

“Well, you were lying.”

She sighed and sat down, already missing the lighthearted mood of the past moments.  “About a lot of things, yes.  But I remember that color; what does that tell you?”

Guy shrugged.  “That it was the one bright spot in the day for you, apparently.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say the only bright spot,” Marian began, but then she stopped abruptly.  The truth was that the more she thought of that day, the more bright spots she remembered.  How nervous Guy had been, how much he wanted her to be happy.  It didn’t bear dwelling on, especially in light of how she had felt about him just a few minutes prior. “But it did stand out.”

He sighed again, relenting.  “Okay, fine.  I don’t want the work you’ve already done to go to waste.  I suppose I can sleep in it.”

“Yes,” she replied, nodding.  “That way no one will see you in it but me.”

Guy’s eyes widened, and Marian cursed herself inwardly.  “And Allan,” she added, but it was too late. Without looking at Guy again, she began packing the material back into her bag, reaching to take the already started shirt out of Guy’s hand.  “I’m going to try to do a little more work on this before you come up,” she said, hoping it would not be too soon.  Apparently, neither her hands nor her mouth could be trusted anymore.


	21. Stitching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been updating so fast because I actually did get some writing done during my hiatus. I learned that I might prefer writing chapters in clusters before posting them, so I may get a few complete before I update again. It shouldn't be more than a week, though.
> 
> This chapter contains some . . . sensuality after the last break (* * *).

Marian continued to get regular morning and afternoon visits over the next week, and those conversations mostly held to the expectations the first had established.  The people from Locksley who knew how much time Robin had spent at the manor knew he was the baby’s father; the ones from further off suspected Gisborne, and offered condolences. Marian took small comfort in the fact that she managed to balancing denying that Guy had raped her with not admitting that the child was Robin’s; people seemed to persist in their beliefs regardless of what she told them.  It was maddening.

What made matters worse was that every day Guy would return from the Sheriff looking even more worn than he had the day before. She did her best to comfort him, but often felt herself at a loss.  When she asked him what he needed from her, his request had been simple enough.  “Just talk to me,” he said.  “Help me take my mind off what I’m doing every day.” It was easier said than carried out.  There were too many topics that were off limits.  She knew better than to ask him about work.  The only time it had been addressed was soon after Eleri’s visit when he told her, without any prompting, “we’ve stopped forcing peasants out of cottages.  Those who are still at home are safe.  You should make sure they know it.” She had thought the walks she took to spread the news would give her some relief from the onslaught of visitors, but no such luck.  The people hated Guy just as much, whether they visited her or she visited them. By the end of the day, she felt she needed to wind down almost as badly as he did.    

Usually, she found it least tiring for her and stressful for him to just talk about what she did at home each day while he was out. She had never imagined that any man could be as interested in kitchen and needle work as Guy appeared to be.  While, for her, the descriptions of preparing vegetables for stew and piecing together materials for her new dresses only served as a reminder of how tedious her daily life was, he drank it all in.

At night, he still braided her hair before they went to sleep.  At first, it had simply been a joke between them, but since it had become such an important part of her nightly routine that she had found it hard to fall asleep on those nights past when Guy had been at Knighton, or sleeping downstairs.  It helped him relax too; he always seemed more honest and less hesitant when he was sitting behind her, combing through her hair. 

And he always slept well, at least as far as she was aware. He looked rested and healthy in the mornings.  No wonder he was so hesitant to go to work; by the time he returned in the evening, he looked as though he had aged ten years over the course of the day.  He was tired and listless, his features drawn tight, and he startled at the slightest noise. Even as she tried to comfort him and take his mind off his troubles, Marian felt herself growing increasingly angry with the Sheriff. 

Guy had done plenty of bad things without his bidding, but people didn’t hate him for taking jewelry, or even lying to her to make her marry him.  It was the larger scale violence and theft that they all suffered from, and that had been at the Sheriff’s behest.  She knew that because of the time she had spent at the castle, and because she knew Guy personally, but the people never saw the orders, only the execution.  Small wonder they hated him as much, possibly more than the Sheriff.

Her anger came to head when he returned home just as she was sitting down to have lunch.

“Hello, Guy, you’re home early,” she said with a smile.

“Yes, he . . . the Sheriff sent me home,” he muttered softly, not looking at her.

Immediately, Marian grew suspicious. Raising her eyebrows, she said, “That’s unusual.  Did he run out of work for you?”

“Oh,” he sighed, “there’s work to be done.  He just didn’t want me to do it. He told me to get out of his sight, so I did.”

As he spoke, he seemed to turn even further away from her. “Guy, look at me,” she said softly.

He made no motion to do as she requested.

“Please, Guy?”

When he refused to move again, she got up and walked around to his other side.  When he tried to turn the other way to avoid facing her, she gripped his shoulder with one hand and his chin with the other, turning his face towards her.  She gasped loudly when she saw the distinct red blotch on the right side of his face, and the small gash on his cheekbone.  She knew immediately that it was the mark left by a ring.

“Did he do this to you?” she snapped, unable to contain her fury.

Guy recoiled from her, his face blanching around the vivid fist-print.  She felt a rush of shame.  Loosening her grip on his shoulder and removing her hand from his face, she looked away from him and began rubbing his shoulder soothingly.

“I’m sorry, Guy. I didn’t mean to shout at you, but . . . did the Sheriff hit you?”

He sighed heavily and shrugged.  “You remember when I told you that we had stopped emptying cottages?”

She nodded.

“Well, for the past few days, the Sheriff has had me scouting mercenaries to fill them.  But many of them have been hired by richer lords in larger shires, further off. The ones who remained had no interest in the amount the Sheriff was offering, but finally, yesterday, I found a group that did.  They are . . . a little less experienced.  I knew the Sheriff wouldn’t be impressed, but I didn’t realize he’d . . .”

Marian felt herself shaking with rage; she only hoped that Guy wouldn’t notice.  She took a deep breath and tried to steady her voice. “Hit you?” she offered.

Guy nodded, not looking at her.  “Then he told me to get out of his sight, and that I was useless and he could do my job better than I could.”

She could feel her fingers tightening on his shoulder again, so she released him and walked back around the table to sit across from him.

“Then let him,” she exclaimed with finality.

Guy faced her and knitted his brows.  “What?”

“Let him do your job for you.  Don’t go back tomorrow.”

His eyes widened and his mouth fell open in shock.  “Marian, I can’t, he’ll . . .”

“What will he do? Punish you? Guy, he’s punishing you every day that you do go in, and for nothing! You would have found more and better mercenaries if they were to be had.  It’s not your fault.  If he’s blaming you for his bad management, you may well be safer here.”

Guy looked away, biting his lips thoughtfully.  “At least he’s considering it,” Marian thought to herself.  “Please, Guy.  Stay with me,” she added after a few moments to encourage him.

He looked at her again and gave a tiny, almost imperceptible smile.  “Alright, but just for tomorrow.  And if he sends for me, I have to go, Marian.”

She gave him a wide smile.  “Good.”

At that moment, Ruth entered with a jug of ale for Marian.  She took it from the servant and handed it to Guy.

“Ruth, please ask your mother to come here for a moment.  Sir Guy is injured.”

While the young woman was gone, Marian examined his cut.  It had stopped bleeding, but she could tell the skin around it would bruise badly.

When Edith arrived, she stood next to Marian, tut-tutting softly.  “That’s going to need stiches, Sir Guy, if you don’t want it to scar.”

“It wouldn’t be my first,” he replied, glancing at the servant with a little smirk before taking a gulp of ale.  Then he looked at Marian. “Do you think you can manage it?” he asked.

She felt her stomach twist with nerves, but schooled her features to calmness, considering.  “Well, I’ve sown up arrow wounds before.  But I’ve never stitched a wound on a face.”

He smiled ruefully at the mention of arrow wounds.  “I’ll bet you have,” he muttered.  “But this isn’t as deep as an arrow would be.  If you’ve done that, I have confidence in you.  Besides, you’ve had so much sewing practice lately.”

She took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to release the jitters in her stomach.  “Alright then.  I’ll do my best.”

* * *

The next day, Marian found herself looking at Guy’s wound again and again as they talked, hoping it didn’t make him too self-conscious.  The cut was so small it had only taken a couple of stitches to close it, and it looked free of infection.  She was relieved, because it felt as though she had been shaking the whole time.  Part of it was nerves, but she still felt almost overwhelmed with anger too.

It was a little ironic.  Almost everyone in Robin’s gang had punched or otherwise hurt Guy’s face, and Robin had countless times.  Even she had hit him when he tried to stop the Night Watchman, though she had never marked him as he had her.  The scar he had left on her arm had faded to a white mark that was almost unnoticeable.  It wasn’t the worst scar he had given her.

And yet here she was, so angry at the Sheriff for doing the same to him that she was fairly sure, if he dared show his face at Locksley again, that she could kill him with her bare hands.

She couldn’t help commenting on the irony to Guy.  “Everyone in the gang has hit me, I think,” he replied.  “Except maybe the Saracen woman.  But I would take a punch in the face over black pepper in my eyes any day.  That was awful.”

“Has Allan hit you?” she asked.

“Not lately.” He grinned so widely that he winced when the motion tugged his stitches.  “He did kick me in the face once, though he tries to deny it now.”

Marian had feared that it would be difficult to keep Guy engaged in conversation, but when he hadn’t been with the Sheriff all day, he was much calmer and more cheerful. He still startled at the slightest noise, and when someone knocked at the door, he looked positively frightened.  But it had only been a farmer’s wife from Locksley, and she had fled as soon as she saw Guy.

Mostly, they talked about Marian.  How her mother had died when she was only six years old, and she hardly remembered her.  For the most part, her childhood had been happy one, doted on by her father and servants alike.  He had given her her first horse when she refused to desist from sneaking into the stables and riding his without permission.  She had bested the boys her age in games until they would no longer play with her.  She almost told Guy about the fighting lessons her father had gotten her, and how long it had taken him to find a teacher who would condescend to working with “a little girl,” but stopped herself just in time.  Guy might be able to put together her training with the Night Watchman’s exploits if he thought about it enough, and she wasn’t certain she was ready for him to know that yet.

Before they knew it, it was almost time for bed.

“Don’t come up for a few minutes, Guy.  There’s something I want to show you,” she said.

Once upstairs, she put on the grey dress she had been sewing all week.  It was dark grey, but of a thicker material than she had bought for Guy’s shirt, and it was trimmed in lighter burgundy cloth.  It was sized in expectation of her being further along in her pregnancy than she was at present, and it showed a bit more of her chest than she was used to, but Guy had been asking about it all week, and she was too excited to show the finished product.

When he walked in and saw her, his eyes lit up.

“You look lovely, Marian,” he gasped in awe.  “I can’t believe you made it all by yourself.”

She felt herself blushing with pleasure at his compliment.  “It was very simply, really.  Edith gave me the pattern, I just added a few embellishments to it.”

“I think I recognize that color of the trim, don’t I?”

She smiled.  “I had some bits left after I finished your shirt, and I used them to add a bit of color.  What do you think?”

He scrutinized her for a moment, and she couldn’t help but notice the way his cheeks he colored when his eyes fell on her cleavage.  And yet, she didn’t find his gaze as unwelcome as she suspected she might.

“I see what you mean about the color bringing out blue in eyes,” he said, raising his back to her face.  “Yours are a bit bluer than mine, I think.”

When she replied, she was surprised at how flustered she sounded.  “Thank you, Guy . . . um . . . speaking of color . . . I have this for you.”

She went to the bed and picked up his finished burgundy shirt, handing it to him.

“Go in the next room over and try this on for size.  But give me a few minutes.  It takes me a bit longer to change than it takes you, lots more material.”

He scowled at the color of the offered material, but took it from her and left without speaking.

When he returned, just a moment after she had pulled her nightgown over her head, she had to restrain herself from clapping in delight.  She wasn’t sure something so loose fitting would flatter him, but it certainly did.  The sleeves were just the right length and the hem of the shirt hit him just around the tops of his thighs, just as the pattern showed.

“How do you like it?” she asked, almost breathless

Guy lifted up the sides, the material balled up in his fists.

“It’s . . . very roomy.  I don’t think I’ve ever had a shirt this wide and . . . airy before.  But it does feel comfortable.  I do like it.”

Marian nodded, a bit distractedly. The opening of the shirt at his chest, held shut only by a couple of ties, offered a tantalizing glimpse of his chest that she couldn’t resist staring at.  “This must be how he felt seeing me in that low-cut dress,” she thought, and the idea only made her more uncomfortably warm.

“I’m glad.  Now, we had better get to bed,” she said hurriedly, turning her back for him to braid her hair before he noticed her flushed face.

* * *

After such a relaxing day, she found herself falling asleep faster than usual.  It didn’t last, however.  She was awakened after a few hours by Guy thrashing on the bed next to her, calling out “no, no!” over and over again.

She immediately recognized the signs of a nightmare.  Robin had a couple of bad ones while she was sleeping with him: once in the forest and once at Locksley.  The first time, she had tried to shake him awake and almost gotten punched in the face for her trouble.  She had asked Much about it later, and he told her that, in his experience, it was best to call a person’s name when they were having a nightmare, rather than touching them.

“Guy!” she called out, climbing out of bed and standing at the foot.  “Guy, you’re here.  At Locksley.  You’re safe.”

After she repeated this a couple of times, he calmed down.

“Marian?” he said, his voice trembling.  “Are you alright?”

She was taken aback. Hadn’t he just believed he was in danger?

“Yes, Guy.  I’m fine.”

As she climbed back into the bed on the other side of the pillow barricade, he reached for her, clasping her shoulder in the darkness as though needing to make sure she was really there, in the flesh.

“Oh, thank God.  I thought you were . . .”

She shhh-ed him, rubbing his shoulder over the pillows.

“Lie down, Guy. Go back to sleep.  I’m here, and I won’t leave you.”

He sighed with relief as he lay down on his side with his back to her, but as she brushed her fingers over his neck, she felt that his pulse was still pounding.  She continued to rub his shoulder from behind, this time sliding her hand underneath the loose fabric, feeling the warmth of his skin.  He sighed again and rolled onto his back, the motion moving her hand to his chest.  Though he didn’t say a word, she knew what he was asking for.

A small voice inside told her that it was time to stop, to speak words of comfort to Guy instead of touching him.  But she ignored it.  Instead, she stroked the bare skin through the openings left between the ties at the front of his shirt.  It wasn’t enough.

“Is this alright?” she asked as she undid the fastenings and spread the material open.

“Yes,” Guy breathed out, shakily.

She slid her hand underneath the shirt, pressing her hand flat against his hot skin.  For the first time since he had moved back to Locksley, she allowed herself to remember what he had felt like all those months ago at the castle.  Then, his chest had been perfectly smooth to the touch, but now she could feel short hairs covering it.  “He must shave for Allan,” she thought absentmindedly. 

Guy moaned softly when her finger brushed over his nipple, jolting her back to the present.  She felt her blood quicken in her ears at the sound; she wanted to hear it again.  When she raised her thumb to brush over his nipple again he whimpered and when she rolled it between her thumb and forefinger he groaned deeply and turned towards her, wrapping a leg around the barricade and pulling it tight against his groin.

“Marian, please,” he whined.  “I need . . .”

“Touch yourself, Guy,” she ordered, excited even further by the sound of her own, authoritative voice, thick with desire.

Without a word, he rolled onto his back, making the bed shift beneath her as he pulled the shirt off over his head.

“I don’t want to stain it,” he offered by way of explanation.  The he lay down again and lifted his hips to pull down his trousers.  Marian knew the exact moment he took himself in hand.  He inhaled sharply and then moaned again with relief.  She lay both hands on his fully bare chest, rubbing her thumbs over his nipples as he stroked faster.  When she pinched them both hard he gave a high, half-pained cry and arched his back.  Her own gasp was lost in the sounds he was making.  If he felt this good just from her fingers, how would he feel if she . . .?

“Do you want me to suck them?”

She never got an answer to her question.  A moment after she spoke, Guy’s body went rigid. Knowing what was to come, she moved her hands a split second before he began to jerk through his climax, listening to the splatter of his release hitting his skin. When he was lying still again, she moved the barricade to her other side and lay down next to him.  After what she had just done, the idea that they needed to be separated seemed ridiculous. A few moments later, Guy got out of bed, perhaps to find something to clean himself with.  She felt a brief horror at the thought that he might find his discarded shirt, and stain it in spite of his efforts, and had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing at the absurdity.  He lay down next to her again, his back pressing against the curve of her belly.  Marian put her hand on his bare shoulder once more.  If she was going to feel ashamed, and she was sure she would, it could wait for the morning.

“Goodnight, Guy,” she murmured.

“Goodnight,” he replied, sounding more asleep than awake. “Darling.”


	22. Shaving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicitness in the last section of this chapter.

As soon as he awakened the next morning, Guy felt the odd sensation of being simultaneously warmer and colder than usual when he had spent the night with Marian.  As his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the rainy morning, he understood why.  He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his chest was pressed against Marian’s back, his arm thrown around her waist. As soon as he realized, he got up and scrambled away from her, jostling the bed so much that within a few seconds she stirred and stretched, turning to look at him with sleep glazed eyes.

“What’s the matter, Guy?” she mumbled with annoyance.

His heart was pounding with nerves so badly that he could barely speak. “Marian, I . . . I’m sorry . . . I didn’t mean . . .

She blinked at him as he struggled, finally raising a hand to stop him.  “What are you talking about?”

He made a sweeping gesture with his hand from one side of the bed to the other. “This.”

Her brows knitted, but as understanding dawned on her, her face relaxed.  A slight smile appeared on her face and she laughed nervously.  “Oh, that.”

“What do you mean, ‘oh, that?’ What do you remember?”

She glanced at him for a moment, the smile falling from her face.  She looked down at the bed again.

“Do you remember anything?” Guy’s pulse pounded in his ears; he didn’t want to make her anxious, but he was so afraid of what she might say.

“Relax, Guy,” she replied, a hint of warning in her tone. “Give me a chance to wake up.  Why don’t you tell me what you remember?” she added with a yawn.

He took a deep breath and tried to calm the beating of his heart.  He was suddenly afraid that in fact nothing at all had happened. Perhaps he had fallen asleep after Marian woke him and had a more pleasant dream.  Or he had never woken up at all.

“What I remember,” he began with trepidation, “is that I had a bad dream, and you woke me up and . . . comforted me.”

Marian had been lying on her side, propped up on her elbow as she listened to him, but when he finished speaking she rolled onto her back again, looking up at the ceiling.  Her head pressed back into her pillow as she nodded.  “Yes, I remember that.”

Guy exhaled with relief.  He was resolved to let the matter go, but Marian continued. “How did I comfort you?”

The relief vanished. Why couldn’t she just be content to forget all about it? He spent so long trying to come up with right words that Marian went on without his answer.

“If I remember correctly, I opened all the ties on your shirt, but it was a waste of time because then you took it off again right after. Then I . . . rubbed your chest and then . . .”

“That’s what I remember too,” he said quickly, getting off of the bed to look for his shirt.  He found it on the floor next to the bed and picked it up. “We’d better get downstairs and . . . and . . .” He stopped speaking as he struggled to put his shirt on. First he put his arm through the wide opening for his head, then he tried to put it on backwards.  Just as he was about the throw it back on the floor in frustration, Marian took it from him and motioned for him to sit down on the bed.  When he obeyed, she slipped it over his head and held out the sleeves, one at a time, for him to put his arms in.  But the time he was fully dressed, he was certain he was blushing as much as he had the night before.

“Thank you, Marian,” he murmured.  “I don’t know why I’m so flustered.”

She sat back, and he noticed that she was starting to blush too.

“Just one more question.  Did I . . . did I ask you if I could . . .?

Guy stood up, his eyes on the door.  He remembered what she had asked; even the memory was enough to make his cock begin to swell in his trousers.  “No, you didn’t ask me anything.  I’d better go down before we’re late for breakfast.” He was halfway to the steps before the icy cold of the floor made him realize he had forgotten his boots.

* * *

After breakfast, Marian asked Guy if he would ride to Knighton to check on the peasants who had moved in.  She had convinced him on the previous day that he should not go back to the castle unless the Sheriff sent for him, and he couldn’t bring himself to argue with her.  He reflected on the fact that Marian had often asked him to defy the Sheriff before he came to live with her; indeed, it had happened even when they were engaged. But now, for the first time, he thought there might actually be an alternative to working for the Sheriff.  Even if Marian couldn’t make Robin believe that he could be more useful, she herself could be convinced, and he was going to do all he could to convince her.

Besides, he suspected that she had wanted him out of the house so she could think about what had happened between them the night before.   That was fine; he could use some time to think about that as well. And for the duration of the ride he thought about little else.  It did not help that his leathers weren’t quite thick enough to keep out the cold, almost November winds but were tight enough to create friction against his nipples if he moved too much.  He imagined that they were still slightly sore from Marian’s treatment the previous night, which only led to sensitivity spreading to other parts.  The pressure of his hardening cock against the saddle made him so uncomfortable that he feared he might have to dismount before he even got to Knighton, which would be difficult to explain to Adams.

The steward certainly was surprised to see him; the panic that crossed the older man’s face made Guy wonder if he thought he had come to punish the people he was inquiring about.  As he asked how many families there were, what the whereabouts were of the others, and whether any of them needed anything, Adams scratched his head in confusion.  To the second question, he would only give the most ambiguous answer: “They went into the woods.”

Guy knew that meant the camp the outlaws had abandoned. “Well, they should be safe enough there,” he replied.  “But you need to make sure they stay there once the snow starts.  It will be too easy to track them afterwards.”

Adams blanched.  “Is . . . is the Sheriff looking for them?”

Guy considered for a moment.  It might be the case for all he knew, although the Sheriff usually couldn’t be bothered to think about the peasants unless he suspected they had something he wanted. He decided to answer honestly.

“Not that I’m aware.  But it wouldn’t do for the Sheriff to find out where Robin Hood’s camp is, now would it?”

The steward shook his head.  “No, I’ll make sure they know.  But, Sir Guy, some of the ones in the woods have young children.  They won’t fare well in the snow.”

Guy considered that for a moment. “Perhaps we need to relocate them, then?”

Adams raised an eyebrow at him.

“Re-relocate them? Perhaps some can move to Locksley.  I don’t think there are enough mercenaries to fill all the cottages.  Most of them will be quartered in Nettlestone anyway.”

Adams’ lips pressed into a hard line.  “That wouldn’t be relocating them, Sir Guy.  Some of them are from Locksley.  You would be putting them back where you found them.”

Guy scowled at him; he was beginning to wonder whether the steward was related to Matilda; he certainly sounded enough like her. “Well, I would be getting them off of the hard floor in the hall.  Or do you think they’re happy there?” he snapped.

Adams looked away, stroking his chin.  “I think they feel safe here.  At least until Allan returns.”

At the mention of his lover’s name, Guy felt his face relax. If Allan were here, the peasants would understand him better.  “Tell them not to worry about being turned out when he gets back from London.  He is still loyal to Hood; he would want them to stay.  Besides, since he will most likely be Master at Arms when he returns, they will likely see little of him.”

At that the older man raised both eyebrows, and Guy immediately regretted his words.  He had spent so many years telling servants absolutely nothing; now he seemed unable to stop himself from telling them everything.

“Have you stopped working for the Sheriff, Sir Guy?” he inquired in hushed surprise.

Guy gave him a smirk.  “Well, if he asks you, don’t tell him that.  I’m going to be on my way now.  When I return tomorrow, I’ll tell you which cottages are still vacant.  They can move back in or stay here, as it suits them.” 

He was almost back on his horse before he remembered what he needed to retrieve from the master bedroom and walked back into the house, cursing himself for his thoughtlessness.

* * *

Guy decided to say nothing more about what had happened in the bed after his dream.  If she wanted to talk about it, he would leave it to her to bring up, but he suspected she would want to forget it entirely.  At least she hadn’t cried and described what she had done as “a terrible mistake” again.  That was a definite improvement.

As he told her of his day’s activities, he saw her smile grown wider and wider.

“I have to say, Guy, I’m quite pleased.  I only asked you to inquire about how the guests at Knighton were, but now you’ve made a plan to bring them back home!  I’m . . . proud of you.”

He simply stared at her, not knowing how else to react.  Of course he wanted to make her proud, but then . . . “I have no plan! Adams spoke of children freezing once the snow starts; I knew you wouldn’t like that, so I just said the first thing that came into my head.  Which was clearly a mistake, because I’m going to be in enough trouble when the Sheriff remembers me without personally returning peasants to the cottages he told me to order them out of!”

Marian rolled her eyes, but he noticed with relief that the smile remained on her face. “You won’t have to escort them Guy; they know the way home.  But if they have a notification from you that they are free to return, they are far more likely to do so. There is nothing like being comfortable in one’s own home.”

Guy looked at her with confusion, trying to decipher her meaning.  What home did she have in mind, Knighton or Locksley?

She said no more, but simply reached out and took his hand.  Since the embarrassing incident that had followed the first time she did that, he had started taking his gloves of as soon as he came in.  There was no danger in her touching his hands, but undressing them was an entirely different matter. She, in turn, had taken to reaching for his hand whenever he seemed uncertain.  It was a nice change, and it had only taken three months, Guy reflected. Their relationship might not be entirely what he had hoped for before they were married, but he was sure he could get used to it if he only had time.

* * *

That night, he had gone up to the bedroom first, telling her to give him a few minutes.  There was something he needed to do.  She had started working on her second winter dress, a less complicated but warmer one in a thick green cloth, and he thought that might keep her occupied for a while.

He was wrong.  He had just finished applying the lather to his chest and started shaving the middle with the razor he had collected from Knighton when the bedroom door opened Marian walked in.

“Oh!” she gasped.  “Guy, what in the world are you doing?”

He felt his cheeks warm.  It was once thing for her to appreciate the effect of his smooth chest if she happened to touch it again, but for her to catch him in the act was almost humiliating.

“I’m shaving my chest,” he replied simply.

Marian looked down at him, her eyes transfixed on what he was doing.  She was silent for so long that he started again, sliding the blade in short strokes and rinsing it in the basin of water on the bedside table.  As awkward as the situation was, he had already started.  There was no reason not to continue.

He was concentrating so intently on not cutting himself that he almost forgot about Marian until she sat down on the bed next to his feet.

“Why do you do that?” she asked in a hushed tone, still closely watching the movement of his hand.

Guy stopped long enough to shrug.

“I’ve just been doing it for so long that it’s a habit.  I just . . . don’t feel right when it gets hairy. It’s the same when I don’t shave my face.

Marian glanced up at him for a moment, her brows knitted in confusion.  “I’ve never met a man who shaved his chest,” she said.

What did that mean? Guy thought to himself.  Did she think him too vain? Too perverse? Then he remembered that she had both seen and touched his chest when it was smooth before.  At the castle.

“Well, you’ve felt it both ways, which do you prefer?” he blurted out before he could stop himself.  Then he shut his eyes tight, almost wincing with embarrassment. But when he dared to open them again, he saw that Marian was considering his question with a fingertip pressed against her lips, as though he had asked her which drink she wanted him to pour for her.

“I don’t know.  I remember liking it smooth now that you mention it, but . . . I liked it last night as well.”

Guy felt himself beginning to blush for an entirely different reason.  He had already gone this far; he might as well ask what he wanted to know.

“Would you like to try it smooth again? When I’m finished?”

The smile on Marian’s face was replaced by an uncertain frown, and Guy swore at himself inwardly.

“I think I’d better keep my hands to myself,” she replied.  “But . . . I would like to watch you, if you don’t mind.”

Guy shook his head with a little smile and kept shaving.  He had finished clearing all of the lather on both pectorals, which left only the most difficult part: his nipples.  When he covered the first with two fingers it was all he could do to stop himself from gasping.  Usually, their sensitivity was more of a nuisance than anything else; most of the time he avoided touching them at all and never touched them himself for pleasure. But there was just something about Marian watching him that made it hard for him to resist rolling and pinching them as she had done.

When he began work around the other one, he thought he saw the tip of Marian’s tongue emerge to wet her bottom lip, but it disappeared before he could be certain.  He focused attention back on the area around his nipple, convinced that it must have been a product of his fevered imagination.  But when he glanced up a second time, she did it again.

“Do you shave your stomach too?” she asked, her voice growing thick.

Guy fought to concentrate.  His cock was beginning to swell at an alarming rate, and if she wanted him to shave underneath his navel, the only place on his belly where hair grew thickly enough to shave, there was no way he could avoid a full erection.  She couldn’t overlook that.

“I do sometimes,” he answered, cringing at how desperate he sounded. 

Marian bit her lip, and it was enough to make his cock twitch.

“Will you do it now?” she asked.  It did not sound like a question to Guy.

He took a deep breath and tried to calm his racing heart.  The lather was growing thin when he added it to the area between his navel and the waist of his trousers. When he picked up the razor, his hand was shaking so badly that he was afraid he would cut himself.  And every time he drew the razor across his skin, his cock grew a little bit harder.

He exhaled with relief when Marian took pity on him.  “Put down the razor, Guy, and dry yourself off.  I think you’re a little too . . . distracted to do that safely.”

He did as he was told, assuming that she was ready for bed.  He was just about to get up and give her the room to change when she held out her hand, bidding him to stop.

“Stay where you are, Guy.  I’m not finished with you.”

Guy found it difficult to breath as he lay there, awaiting her instructions.  What could she possibly do with him now?

Marian inhaled deeply, then breathed out, “Touch yourself . . . like before.”

There was no need for further explanation.  He got his pants down as quickly as possible, wrapping his hand around his swollen cock before she could give further instructions.  As he stroked, he wondered if Marian really was just allowing him to do what needed to be done, or did she have a desire to see what she had only heard on the previous night?  A glance at her answered that question quickly.  Her chest was rising and falling rapidly and her eyes were dark with lust.  He wanted to speak to her, to ask what she wanted of him, but was afraid to break the spell.  It was Marian who ended the silence.

“Why do you do it like that?”

Looking down at his busy hand, he found that he had no idea what she was talking about. “What?”

“You’re supposed to touch the tip.”

Guy couldn’t stop himself from laughing.  What kind of fever dream was this? “Is that what I’m supposed to do?” he inquired, chuckling again.  The absurdity did nothing to check his arousal.

“Well? Do you not like that?”

It was almost impossible to think about anything besides the throbbing veins his palm brushed against with each stroke and the tension drawing tight in his belly, but he tried. The truth was that he always made himself finish quickly when he masturbated; there was no reason not to.  It was more about relieving tension than anything else, and if he thought about Marian when he brought himself off, it only made him feel lonelier and more pitiful afterwards.  But now, she was there with him, watching him, telling him how she would touch him, if she only permitted herself.  He did not want that to be over so soon.

And yet, he found it impossible to reply to her question; he would simply have to show her.  On the upstroke, he stuck out his thumb and brushed over his tip and down to the achingly sensitive spot where his foreskin met his shaft.  He groaned aloud at the burst of pleasure that sent up his spine.  A stroke later, he rubbed his entire palm over his tip, now wet with pre-come, and back down all the way to his balls.  He knew he wouldn’t last long, and looked up at Marian for a sign that he should stop or slow down.

Her eyes were narrowed almost to slits above her scarlet cheeks.  He looked down and noticed that her thighs were pressed tightly together, and it dawned on him that she might be as aroused as himself, but would not allow herself the release she demanded of him. That was ridiculous, he thought.  Why should she refuse pleasure? He could please her.  If she would only let him inside her they could . . .

It was too much.  He arched his back with a deep groan and came hard on his freshly cleaned chest.  His orgasm seemed to stretch on for long minutes, and when he was recovered enough to look for her, he saw that she was already on her feet, eyes still dilated, cheeks still dark.

“Excuse me, Guy . . . I” she panted.  “I’m going next door to change.  Don’t worry.  I’ll be right back.” She left before he could speak.

As he sat up slowly, he noticed that her nightgown had been left behind on the bed.   Whatever she was doing in the next room, it was not changing for bed.  Amid the aftershocks still twitching in his limbs, he felt a prick of indignation.  His pleasures had been on display for her, quite literally.  Why were hers private? He supposed he should be grateful for any attention she gave him, after offering absolutely nothing for so long.  But now that he knew she desired him, he couldn’t help wishing for more.  Not that he was ready to tell her that.  When she returned a few minutes later to retrieve her nightgown, her breathing calmed back to normal, he closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep.


	23. Matilda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter, I break from my coverage of Marian and Guy’s Sexual Slippery Slope to bring you the reasonably indignant grumblings of a midwife who is about to run out of fucks.

Matilda was exhausted after delivering a son to the Miller’s wife that afternoon.  The poor woman had been in labor for nearly six hours, and he had sent for her at the crack of dawn.  At least it was likely to be the only birth she would be attendant on that week.  While she hated the Sheriff as much as anyone, she was one of the few people whose work load was not increased by him.  When people were worn out with labor to earn extra money to pay taxes, they had less sex, which translated into fewer pregnancies.  Matilda had spent the extra time it gave her trying to find new combinations of herbs that would sooth the weariness and anxiety almost all of her patients faced.  Still, she knew that the best treatment for these ailments was to sit down, put one’s feet up, and relax.  That was exactly what she planned to do after she paid one more visit.

While she cared deeply for all of her mothers-to-be, Marian was her favorite, though she would never admit it to anyone.  She could not be much more excited about the prospect of Robin’s firstborn if the baby were her own grandchild. What was more, she usually found Marian to be the least stressful to visit.  For all the tribulations she had faced with Robin leaving and Gisborne moving in, she had not had any complications.  Matilda liked to think that it was because Marian had followed all the advice she had given her, but she had to grudgingly admit that a big part of it was how attentive Gisborne had been. She was well aware that many people in Locksley, and even other villages, believed he had some dark purpose in being there.  After some deliberation, she found herself more inclined to take his behavior at face value for as long as Marian continued to thrive.  None of the damage he had done in the past had come with any of the prognostications some villagers now had, and Matilda doubted he was clever enough to fool Marian anyway.

All her tolerance of Gisborne did not prepare her for seeing him seated at the table by the fire where she usually found Marian.  He was leaning forward with his elbows resting just above his knees and his head in his hands, oblivious to her presence until she called his name.

“Sir Guy.  Where is Lady Marian?”

When he lifted his face to her, she saw that his eyes were rimmed with red, as though he had been crying.

“I don’t know,” he replied with a sniff.  “She’s not here.”

The older woman felt her heart sink.  Sometimes Marian was out when she called; their visits were never formally scheduled.  But why would Gisborne be so distraught if she were simply visiting a neighborhood cottage? Then a horrible thought occurred to her.  She knew that Gisborne had feelings for Marian; it had been obvious to everyone since before their wedding.  And they had grown close in the months that had passed since Robin’s departure.  Perhaps he had mistaken her gratitude for something else.  Maybe he believed she returned his feelings, though she was carrying another man’s child. And not any other man: his worst enemy!

Matilda felt her blood run cold.  Maybe she had been wrong about him. What if he had made advances, and she had refused him? Everyone knew him to be a violent man; how would he retaliate?

“What have you done with Marian?” she shouted, stepping towards him.  “If you’ve hurt her, I don’t care how big you are, so help me I’ll . . .”

“I haven’t hurt her,” he gasped, shrinking back into his chair.  Matilda scanned his leathers for signs of blood.  Finding none, her eyes fell on his hands.  They were large, powerful: he could easily have strangled her! She immediately backed up to look under the table.

“I’m going to find her,” she called out in a loud warning as she rushed from the room after scanning it with her eyes once more for Marian’s lifeless body.  She searched the entire first level and was about to venture upstairs to the solar when Edith emerged from the kitchen and stopped her.

“What are you doing, Matilda? Whatever is the matter?”

“It’s Gisborne! He’s done something to Marian; I can’t find her anywhere.”

Edith blinked in incomprehension for a moment, until Matilda sighed in exasperation and attempted to pass her. Then the servant took hold of her elbow gently. 

“Please calm yourself.  Sir Guy wouldn’t hurt Marian.  Besides, I just saw her a few minutes ago.”

“You what?” Matilda snapped, more harshly than she meant to.

Edith pressed her lips together in indignation. “Well, if you’ll stop shouting at me, I’ll tell you! I went out to kill a chicken for dinner, and I saw her walking towards the stable. I thought nothing of it.  She often goes to pay a visit to the horses before it gets dark, but I suppose she was walking faster, with more of a purpose than usual.”

The midwife considered a moment.  “Well, even so, Gisborne is upset about something.  Why don’t you check the stable and see if she’s still there.  Maybe she just wanted to get away from him for a while; God knows I wouldn’t blame her! I’ll go and see what I can learn from him.”

When Matilda returned to the fireplace, Guy had resumed the same posture in which she had found him. She stood in front of his chair and cleared her throat to catch his attention.  When he looked up at her, still with some worry, she tried to speak a little more gently.

“Listen, Sir Guy.  Edith told me that she’s just seen Marian walking to the stable.  I’m sorry I accused you, but we still need to find her.  Now, tell me what’s happened that’s upset you; I assume that’s what made her leave.  Did you fight?”

He hung his head again and muttered, “not exactly.”

Forget speaking softly, Matilda growled inwardly.  If he didn’t give her a better answer, she might have to smack one out of him.  There was no time for this nonsense.

“Well, then _you_ tell me what did happen,” she ordered more sternly.

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, looking back at the fire. When he spoke, she could hear a slight tremor in his voice.

“We were just talking, here, about the . . . about the peasants who are coming back to Locksley now that their cottages aren’t being occupied.  We were disagreeing . . . not fighting” he specified.

Matilda nodded impatiently for him to go on.

“She wanted me to . . . take credit, for letting them come back.  I told her that they wouldn’t care, that it wouldn’t make any difference in how they see me.  We went on like that for a while.  And then she told me I was a good man. And then . . . she kissed me.”

The midwife felt her eyes open so wide she feared for a moment that they would fall out of their sockets.  That was not what she expected. “She what?” she cried.  “What did you do?”

Gisborne hung his head further, and went on with a shrug. “I don’t know what came over me, but I kissed her back. Harder.  With more . . .  with more.”

Matilda rolled her eyes at his hesitation.  “I think I can guess what ‘more’ you’re referring to, Gisborne.  You don’t need to be graphic.”  She glanced at him to see if he had registered the use of his less formal name, but he showed no sign of anything other than dejection. “So, you frightened the life out of her.  Then what?”

He looked up at her and shook his head.  “No, she didn’t seem scared.  She was angry.  She shoved me and told me to get away from her.  The she said she had to get out, and she left.”

At just that moment, Edith came in.  “She wasn’t in the stable.  Luke told me she asked him to saddle her grey horse, and then she left.”

“On the horse?” Matilda cried out in vexation.  She had banned Marian from riding as soon as she knew she was pregnant; it was the first thing she had told her.

Edith pressed her lips together and put her hands on her hips.  “No, I think she only wanted the horse for company.  Of course she was on it! You’re too young to be getting feeble-minded, Matilda.”

The midwife couldn’t quite resist smiling at her old friend.  She made regular use of her sharp tongued wit on all her clients, rich and poor; it was seldom that anyone gave it back to her.

“Alright, Edith.  You go back to dinner; I’ll do everything I can to make sure Marian is back safe in time to eat it.”

Once the servant had left for the kitchens, Matilda turned her attention back to Guy. “Alright, now we have to find her before she falls off and hurts herself.  No, let’s see.   Where do you think she’s most likely to go?

He simply shrugged again, timidly.  “I have no idea . . . maybe Knighton? She might want to talk to the other peasants, the ones who aren’t ours, and see if they are happy there.”

Matilda considered reminding him that none of them were “his,” but instead she nodded.  “Right, then.  You get on your horse and ride to Knighton to see if she’s there.  Meanwhile, since I won’t be able to get far on foot, I’ll wait at the stable for her in case she comes back here.”

* * *

Matilda shifted uncomfortably on her makeshift seat.  Her search for Marian in the house had tired her, and Luke had gathered some horse blankets for her to sit on, her back pressed against the stable wall.  She thought of her comfortable chair by the fire in her own cottage, and how she would be there already if Marian had demanded that Gisborne leave her, as she should have done. It seemed as though hours had passed when she finally saw the lady of the house ride up.

Matilda struggled to her feet with some difficulty, her knees no longer taking as well to being bent as they once had. The discomfort had done nothing to improve her mood.

“My lady, get off of that horse this instant! What were you thinking?” she snapped.

Marian hung her head, but made no reply as she dismounted slowly and with some difficulty.

“Not as easy as it used to be, is it my lady? It’s amazing how things change when you’re four months pregnant! Now, I’ll ask again; what in hell were you thinking?”

The younger woman sighed.  “To be honest, I don’t know.  I know I shouldn’t have gotten on a horse, but I’ve been riding for most of my life, and she’s the calmest horse I’ve ever known. I thought it would be alright.  And, as you see, I’m back on the ground safely.”

“Yes, you were fortunate, this time!” the midwife shouted.  “What if she had slipped on the ice and fallen on you? Not all her calmness or your skill would save you then.”

“Well that could happen even if I wasn’t pregnant.”

“Just stop talking, my lady,” Matilda growled, “Where did you go?”

“To the forest,” Marian murmured, looking away.

Matilda felt a pang of sympathy mix in with her anger.  “There’s nothing there that can help you, child.  He’s gone.”

“I know that,” she replied shortly, looking back at her.  “I wasn’t thinking about Robin.  I let the horse choose the direction.  She hasn’t been taken out for a ride in so long, and that is where she was most used to going.” She paused for a moment before asking, “How was Sir Guy when you found him?”

Matilda scowled at the question.  “Oh, so that’s who you’re thinking about, is it? That’s the other thing I wanted to ask you. He told me that you kissed him; is that true?”

“You haven’t answered my question,” Marian shot back with an annoyed shake of the head.

“He was crying by the fire; are you surprised? At least he wasn’t running around with no direction like some people do in these kinds of circumstances.  Now you answer my question, young lady.  Why are you kissing Gisborne?” She had had just about as much of this as she could take.

Marian looked away from her again, as though searching for anything that might help her escape having to answer. “I really can’t give you a satisfying answer to that one.”

Matilda was so angry her hands were shaking.  “No you can’t,” she roared.  “There is no possible justification for that.  You love Robin; you’re carrying his child! How can you do this to him? He’s away, risking his life to save our king, and here you are, kissing his worst enemy!”

“Even if he were Robin’s enemy, which he is not, not anymore, he isn’t mine,” Marian fired back, her nostrils flaring. “You speak of what I’m doing to Robin, but what has he done to me? He left me here, pregnant and alone, and all any of you care about is how he would feel if he knew that Guy and I were . . . getting closer.”

Matilda thought in silence for a moment.  It was clear that Marian was as worn out as herself; to continue fighting with her would do neither of them any good.

“He doesn’t know, my dear.  He had no idea that you were pregnant.  If he did, I very much doubt he would have left.”

“No,” Marian agreed sadly, lowering her voice.  “But he knew it was possible.  He knows how babies are made. We . . . we shouldn’t have done that.  I shouldn’t have slept with him until we were married.”

Matilda reached out, and Marian allowed her to touch her shoulder.  “Don’t blame yourself, my lady.  Love makes it impossible to control ourselves sometimes.  I don’t see it as being your fault.”

Marian turned to her without meeting her gaze.  “It is my fault,” she said softly.  “I slept with Robin because I wanted to; he didn’t pressure me. And I kissed Guy because I wanted to.  Even before he kissed me . . . the way he did, I knew that it would happen.” She sighed despondently.  “And I wanted that too.”

Matilda squeezed her arm in reassurance, and tried to quiet all the conflicting thoughts racing through her mind at once.  She knew that Marian was defensive of Gisborne, but she had no idea she felt this way about him.  Her concern for Marian battled with her anger on Robin’s behalf for so long she wasn’t sure she would be able to make any reply at all.  Finally, she said, “But, my lady, you can’t just do as you please.  You have to think about the consequences.”

“Well, there you’re wrong! I can clearly do as I please, Matilda, I’m doing it!” She laughed ruefully.  “But there will be consequences; that much is true. You can see how I’m paying for giving myself to Robin,” she said, laying a hand on her stomach.  “And I’ll be paying for kissing Guy for the foreseeable future.  I shouldn’t have done that either, and now I have to go explain that to him. Is he still inside?”

“No, I sent him to Knighton to look for you there.”

“Oh, do think I should . . .?”

“Not on your life, young lady,” Matilda cried. “You go right back inside and sit at that table by the fire and wait for him to get back.  It will be a while.  As upset as he was, I imagine he’ll comb every inch of the house and grounds, regardless of what Adams tells him. Now, I’ve had just about enough thoughtless nonsense for one day; I am going home.”

She walked only a few steps in that direction before the pricking at her conscience forced her to turn around. Marian was still standing in the same spot, biting her lip as though trying to stop herself from crying.  The midwife could hardly bear to see her looking so forlorn.  “Please don’t fret, my lady,” she cooed.  “What’s done is done.  I’ll call on you again in a few days.”

Marian gave her a little smile before turning to walk back to the house.

By the time she returned to her own cottage, Matilda’s anger at the young woman had entirely disappeared.  Of course she didn’t approve of what she was doing with Gisborne, but she knew why she was doing it.  Every woman needed someone to take care of her during pregnancy, especially her first pregnancy.  In her many years as a midwife, Matilda had learned that that person often was not the baby’s father.  Many men were too busy planting, harvesting, or slaughtering if they were poor, or living their lives of pleasure if they were rich.  Often, it was another woman, sometimes it was a servant.  In a couple of sad cases, that person had been her, because the poor women simply had no one else they felt they could trust.  The bonds developed during this time were strong, and often lasted for years after the child’s birth.  That Marian had formed this bond with Gisborne was regrettable, but nothing could be done to reverse it now.  And Matilda had to admit, she could have done worse.


	24. The Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit material after the last break. Is anyone needing these warnings? I don't mind continuing to provide them if someone specifically wants them, but I'm considering giving them up. This is pretty clearly an explicit fic; not always, but often enough.

Marian did as the midwife told her.  After the chastisement she had gotten upon her return from her short ride, she felt that Matilda might know instinctively if she disobeyed her orders again.  And yet the older woman’s words had also served to ground her, to give her the strength she needed to think about what had to be done. 

She had not been thinking much earlier that afternoon; that was certain.  What had possessed her to kiss Guy? Before it happened, they had been discussing the peasants moving back to their homes in Locksley, and he was insisting that he only had the idea because he knew it was what she would do if she were able. She couldn’t remember the last time she had gotten credit for her acts of charity herself, and this hadn’t even been her idea.  She often regretted that she could no longer perform acts of charity as the Night Watchman without endangering more lives than just her own. Not that she had sought recognition and gratitude before, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy it now.

And she had looked at Guy, so uncertain of his own good impulses, but so eager to please her; it had simply seemed the most natural thing in the world for her to lean down from her position standing by his shoulder and press her lips gently to his.

His kiss in return had not been so gentle.   When she stepped back, he jumped to his feet and turned to face her, lowering his hands to the small of her back and pulling her body against his. Then he covered her mouth with his, hard and insistent.  Heat flared from her core that was not anger, but when he slid the tip of his tongue between her parted lips, it erupted forth as such.  She lifted her hands to his chest and shoved him back with all her strength, shouting at him until he all but cowered in the face of her wrath. Then she had fled.  By the time she got to the stable, she realized that her feet could not possibly carry her as far away as she wanted to go.  When she ordered Luke to saddle her grey mare, the poor boy looked even more afraid than Guy had been.  They were almost to the woods before she calmed down, slowing the mare to a walk along the well-known path.  It was then that she had thought of Robin, less than longing than guilt.

What would he think he could see her now? Or if he knew what she had been doing with Guy on the past two nights? Would he see her as a victim of circumstances, simply blaming Guy, or would he see the truth? That she was an inconstant, unworthy woman, who had given him a miserable return on his love.  The thought was enough to bring tears to her eyes. 

“Why did I kiss him?” she kept asking herself over and over.  A hug would have been enough.  But she knew that wasn’t true.  A hug was sufficient to show the friendship and affection she felt for Allan.  Her feelings for Guy were more complex and less innocent.  Perhaps they always had been, but when Robin was near he had consumed her attention so entirely that she had not been able to really think about Guy.  Helping Robin had felt like the right thing to do, but it was also thrilling to be always in danger of getting caught, always breaking the law.  Now, with Guy, she was breaking another law, and it was still thrilling, but it came with a shame she had never known with Robin.  Because the law she was breaking was one she actually believed in.  If she truly loved Robin, she could never give herself to anyone else.

Even before speaking to Matilda, she knew she had to tell Guy that, and waiting would not make it any easier.  He arrived a couple of hours later, as exhausted as Matilda had predicted. She called out to him as soon as she heard him open the door, and as soon as he saw her he almost collapsed with relief.

“Marian! Thank God.  I was afraid you weren’t coming back.” As he spoke he still stood at a distance, as though afraid she might flee again if he approached her.

She quirked an eyebrow at him briefly.  Where did he think she would go, with nothing but the clothes on her back and her horse? But when she saw the worry still present in his eyes she understood that he must have been beside himself. Who knew what horrors he had imagined befalling her?

“Come and sit down, Guy.  Please? We need to talk.”

She spoke as gently as she could, but as he approached with his head down she worried that she had failed.  Or perhaps he had been as harsh as she had been with herself when they were apart.  He confirmed her suspicion as soon as he sat down across from her.

“Marian, I just wanted to say that I’m so sorry that I . . . that I treated you with such disrespect.”

“Guy, I kissed you first,” she reminded him.  “I’m as much to blame as you are.  Perhaps more.”

He looked up at her, his eyes wide.  “Oh no, don’t say that! I should have known that you didn’t mean it in that way.  I misinterpreted what was clearly a friendly gesture, and I’m sorry.”

Marian was tempted to ask if he saw her telling him to touch himself for her as a friendly gesture too, but decided against it.  If she didn’t get to the point quickly, she worried her courage might falter.

“I’ve . . . been giving you some mixed signals, Guy.  I think misinterpretation was inevitable, really.  But now I’d like to make some things clear.  Please just . . . listen.”

Guy sat back in his chair, nodding for her to continue.

“Well, first of all,” she began, “I want to say that . . . I am attracted to you.  After my behavior on the past two nights, that should be plain to both of us.”

His mouth fell open with surprise.  Though he said nothing, it was obvious that was not what he expected to hear.

“But,” she continued, “that does not change the fact that I’m still in love with Robin.”

Guy’s gaze fell to the table again, and he sighed, but did not speak.

“Or that I want to raise this child with him.  Or that I want to . . . I want to have our marriage annulled, so that I can marry him, and so our child can inherit Locksley.”

Here she paused and waited for a reaction from him.  Guy continued to stare at the table for so long that Marian began to worry, but she held her tongue.  It couldn’t have been easy for him to hear what she had just said, and she was not going to rush him.

When he did speak, his reply was simple: “I know.”

Taken aback, she gave him a worried frown. “You do?”

He looked up at her with a sad smile.  “When you told me last winter that you were in love with Robin Hood, I was shocked then.  Allan can tell you that I . . . I didn’t take it very well. But I felt that I understood you more, and . . . in time, I was glad you were honest. You haven’t told me anything different since, so I took it as granted that you hadn’t changed your mind.”

Marian blinked in surprise, not knowing how to react.  Was it truly possible that it could be so simple? “But, in what we’ve been doing . . .”

“What about it?” Guy interrupted.  “If what happened at the castle over the summer didn’t change things between us, why would that?”

She narrowed her eyes critically at him, and he dropped his gaze again.  She began to wonder whether he really meant any of what he was saying.  Perhaps he was just trying to placate her.

 “Besides,” he went on “Allan and I have done . . . more than you might think possible in the past year, and it hasn’t made me any less in love with you.  Why would your touching me mean you no longer love . . . him?” He seemed reluctant to say the name. 

Marian’s eyes widened and her heart began to pound.  Now she found herself unable to form words, even in her head.  As soon as he said it aloud it became a certainty, but somehow she had been unaware.  “But . . . but you love Allan.  Don’t you?”

Guy looked away again, lost in thought for a moment.  “I care for him so very much, Marian.  He’s . . . he’s the first person in many years who has made me feel cared for.  When he went away, I didn’t think I could bear to be without him, and some part of me still wishes he had never left.” He glanced back at her.  “I imagine you know that feeling.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but still no words came forth.  Instead, she nodded.

“You talk of your future with . . . Robin. I try to think about the future now as little as possible, but I can only hope that it will include him. But,” he continued after a pause, “I wanted to marry you because I love you.  I moved back here to help you . . . maintain you reputation because I still love you.  Allan knows that.  If he loves me, that knowledge hasn’t stopped him from wanting to be with me.”

Marian blinked, struggling to come up with something to say, but all her brain supplied were questions.  How could Guy still love her, knowing how she had treated him? How could Allan still love him, knowing him to be in love with her? Was it truly possible to love two people, and be intimate with them, without guilt? After the day they had, she didn’t know if Guy was ready to answer such questions.  If she were honest, she wasn’t certain she was ready to hear his answers.

“I’m glad we talked about this,” she said, opting to change the subject entirely.  “Perhaps we should go in for dinner? I’ve worried Edith enough for one day, I think!”

Guy returned her smile, though some sadness still lingered around his eyes, and got up to follow her.

* * *

They were mostly quiet during dinner, which was a great relief to Marian.  She had eaten nothing that afternoon, of course, and had certainly been more active than usual.  Soreness was already creeping into her lower back and thighs from having been unused to riding for so long, and she was certain she would have difficulty sleeping that night. Guy seemed to eat with a hearty appetite too, and she hoped that was a sign that he was bearing the stress of the afternoon well.

Bedtime, though, came with some complications. When Marian announced that she was going up to bed, Guy responded with “Yes, I’m getting tired too, I’ll just come up and get some clothes to sleep in.”

She stared at him in confusion for a moment before the meaning of his words sank in.  “What? Guy, no! I’m not having you sleep in the downstairs bed as though you’re being punished.”

He shrugged.  “I really think it would be for the best, Marian.”

“Why?”

Guy looked up at her and exhaled wearily.  “You say that your feelings for Robin have not changed, and you know that my feelings for you have not.  But something has changed since Allan left . . . more recently, in fact.  I just don’t . . . I don’t think I can go back to sleeping next to you . . . chastely.”

She looked at him, pressing her lips together thoughtfully.  Since they had spoken after his return from Knighton, she had been thinking about this.  Might as well get it out in the open too, since she and Guy were already being so open with each other.

“But we were.  We were so chaste, for such a long time.  Longer than I would have thought possible after . . . that night.”

He gave her a wry smile.  “Well, it was easier for me when Allan was here.  If Allan were still here, I may have been able to resist you.  It’s not likely,” he added, “but I suppose it was possible.  But . . . I’m a carnal man, Marian.  My resolve is weak when it comes to being touched.”

She couldn’t stop herself from smiling at his phrasing.  If he was a carnal man, what was she? “I understand,” she replied “but . . . if we agree that it hasn’t changed how we feel about the people we love . . . why can’t we continue?” Even as she spoke, her heartbeat quickened.

Guy’s mouth fell open and a blush rose in his cheeks.  He bit his lip as if to stop words from coming forth, but Marian could see that he was considering her offer.

“I can’t give more than . . . before, Guy.  Please understand that.  I can’t kiss you.  I can’t . . . let you touch me. But . . .” She let the sentence trail off, watching his eyes grow wider and wider.

“But?” he prompted, already sounding a bit desperate.

“But if you can be content with what we did before . . . I think I can manage that.”

His brows furrowed with confusion.  “Before? Do you mean, last night?”

“Before, last spring. In the castle.”

“Oh God,” he gasped, his pupils dilating more with each second. “I have . . . thought about that night, so many times. I hope you have a rope, because I . . .”

“If you’ll give me a few moments to go upstairs and search, I think I may be able to provide something more . . . comfortable than a rope.”

With that, she got up and walked towards the stairs.  There was no reason for the object she had in mind to have moved from where she put it, but her heart dropped at the thought that one of the servants might have found it.

* * *

By the time Guy arrived in the bedroom some minutes later, the leather manacles were lying on his pillow.  There was a sharp intake of breath when he saw them.

“Where did . . . I don’t want to know why you have that here, do I?”

Marian did not need long to think about that. “No,” she replied simply. 

Guy was not the only one who still thought about their encounter; she hadn’t been able to shake her desire to feel that power again.  Once, just to humor her, Robin had allowed her to manacle him and take full control herself, but it was obvious from the tension in every line of his body that he wasn’t enjoying it.  She suspected that, even if he had, it wouldn’t have been the same.  Guy was twice her size, and much stronger than herself.  There was something undeniably delightful about being in complete control of someone so big, and so loud when he became lost in his pleasure.

He stood next to the bed, awaiting her instructions.  “Lie down and put your hands over your head, Guy, and . . . oh, wait! First, take your shirt off.” She blushed with momentary embarrassment.  “It won’t be easy to do once you’re bound.”

As he obeyed, she allowed her gaze to linger over him.  The previous night had been so hurried.  She hadn’t expected to be so entranced by the sight of him, and that must have been contagious; he had been in a hurry too.

She looked up to see that Guy was frowning worriedly as he waited for her to bind him. Taking his wrist in her hand, she asked, “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Y-yes,” he replied nervously, a slight tremor in his voice.  “I just . . . it’s selfish for me to let you give me pleasure and not return it.”

She sat back and smiled down at him for a moment before attaching the cuff to his wrist, adjusting it to make room for its width. “It has never been just for you when I’ve touched you, Guy.  I’ve always done it because I wanted to.” And then she looped leather strap through the headboard and attached the other cuff to his opposite wrist. 

Her breath caught in her throat as she looked over him.  Without another word, she placed a hand on his chest, just below his clavicle and stroked slowly down the center of his abdomen, coming to a stop at his waistband.  Looking down, she could see the line of his cock pressing against the smooth black leather. She was glad he had not yet changed out of his trousers. With a shuddering breath, she placed her hand over it, feeling it twitch against the warm material.  She heard the sound of leather creaking and assumed that it was Guy, testing the strength of the gently used strap.  Without looking up, she moved her hand to stroke up his other thigh before coming back to his erection from a different angle.  When she slipped her whole hand between his legs, pressing the crotch of his trousers against his balls and his rapidly swelling cock, he gave a pained groan.

“Darling, please.  Too tight.”

“Well, you chose this wardrobe, Guy,” she pointed out, pressing her palm against him again as she looked up to his face. His chest was rising and falling rapidly and his eyes were shut tight, his teeth bared in a grimace.  She wondered if he could reach full arousal still constrained in his pants, or would the pressure become too painful.  That would be something to try another time.

She sat back and began to undo the laces holding his trousers shut.  When she pulled them down, his cock sprang out with such force that it slapped against his stomach, leaving tiny splatters of moisture on it.  Drawing his trousers just to his knees, she spread his thighs apart with her hands.  The previous night, she had not really gotten a good look at him; as soon as he had taken his cock out, it was in his hand.  Somehow, it seemed bigger than she remembered, both daunting and vulnerable at once.  She wrapped her hand around it and stroked lightly until he whimpered.

“Please darling, I need more.”

“You’re very demanding for someone who’s tied up,” she observed, trying to keep her voice even.  “Though you are polite.  How would you like me to touch you?”

When she listened, she could hear his labored breathing, but he took so long in answering that she wasn’t sure if he was afraid, or simply overwhelmed by the possibilities.  Losing patience, she reached up to lightly tweak one of his nipples, drawing a gasp from him. He moaned loudly when she reached up to pinch the other one.

“Answer the question, Guy, or I could play with these all night.  Do you think you could finish just from that?”

“No . . . oh! I just . . . rub it harder, and faster.  Like I did last night.”

She lowered her hands to his hips again.  “Like last night?”

“Yes, when you told me I was doing it wrong.”

She grinned at the memory.  “I don’t think I said it just like that.  Don’t misquote me, or I might be offended and leave.”

His eyes widened and she gave a soft laugh, lowering her hand back to his cock and taking him in a firmer grip.  The blissful smile that spread across his face let her know that it felt just right.  Every few strokes, she brushed her palm over his head, spreading pre-come down his shaft.  She had been a bit worried that the friction might be too dry, but he was soon leaking so much that she wondered if there would be any left when he spent.  In just a few moments his breathing began to falter and his moans grew more frequent and louder.  As his back began to arch, she tightened her grip around the base of his shaft and stilled her hand.

“Oh, God, please! Please don’t stop,” he cried.

“I’m not stopping, darling.  Just slowing down.  I don’t want this to be over just yet.”

His mouth fell open further and his forehead creased; it dawned on her that it was not a response to what she was doing but to what she had just said.  She had used that name, the one he used for her, and somehow that felt even more intimate than what she was doing to his body.

Embarrassed, and wanting to draw his attention away from her, she began pumping him again in earnest, slipping her other hand under his erection to cup his scrotum.  He groaned deeply at the sensation, and with one gentle squeeze of her hand he was coming.

As he recovered, Marian released him from the manacles, his arms falling to the bed with a thud.  She lay on her back on her side of the bed, almost throbbing with arousal between her legs.  This time, she decided not to relieve it herself; she had the presence of mind to realize that, if she left, Guy would know the reason.  Perhaps he already knew what she needed, because as soon as he had cleaned himself off, he lay down again and reached for her, stopping just short of her thigh and letting his hand fall to the bed.

“Marian,” he whispered.  “Why won’t you let me touch you?”

It was a simple enough question, she thought as she raised her eyes to him. The answer was not so simple.

“Because when I’m touching you, I’m in control.”

His face fell, and he turned away, hurt.  “I wouldn’t harm you, you know.”

“I know,” she said, reaching for his shoulder and pulling it until he was lying on his back next to her again.  “But if you started touching me, I might not want it to stop, and who knows where that might lead us?”

He frowned again, but more in resignation than anger.  After she blew out the candle and settled down with her head on his shoulder, she asked, “do you think Allan will be upset when he hears about this? Will you tell him?”

She felt Guy’s chest move beneath her as he sighed.  “Yes, I’ll tell him, and he won’t like it, but not for the reason you might think.”

Her curiosity was stirred.  “Oh? What do you mean?”

He shifted, resting his face against her head.  “Before Allan left, he told me to find a girl or a boy to take care of me. I doubt you are the girl he had in mind, but that won’t surprise him.  We’re not . . . faithful to each other.  What’s the point when we’re both men? Who knows what he’s up to in London? It’s full of men and women, and many are better looking than I am.  Certainly younger.”

Marian reached up the rub at the center of his chest, nuzzling his neck.  She wasn’t certain if this self-pity was genuine, or just a way of changing the subject.

“Not that many, surely,” she purred.  “Even if there were, you don’t need to worry about Allan.  He'll come back to you.”


	25. Job Offers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter, but it's the first of three with Allan's PoV. He has much to catch up on!

As he drew closer to Nottingham, Allan urged Goat into a trot.  He had much to tell the Sheriff, but knew he could not got to the castle without visiting Marian first; he was too curious to see how she and Guy had gotten on in his absence.

London had been full of surprises, and he had enjoyed himself far more than he expected upon setting out.  Vaisey had been worried that the other Black Knights had been keeping things from him, but as far as he could see, no one was any more knowledgeable about developments from the Holy Land.  Rumors abounded, but nothing had been heard from Winchester or the three knights accompanying him on the mission to kill the king since they had arrived in Acre more than two months earlier.  While the letters he carried from Vaisey allowed him access to some of the Black Knights’ meetings, he found that he gained the most useful information from squires and spies.  The truth was that none of their masters were particularly interested in working together.  Oh, they had agreed unanimously to let Winchester head the assassination attempt, but since his departure, each had worked on securing his own lands with more armed men.  Before he had left, Vaisey had talked of hiring mercenaries, and that job would, of course, fall to Guy.  Allan wondered how that had worked out.

When he was not trying to gain information from the knights and their men, he was exploring London’s alehouses and brothels.  Sir Jasper had volunteered, with no small amount of condescension, to show him the town. They had parted company after Allan, ostentatiously and purposefully, spent all the money he had on him, confident that he could acquire more later in the evening when his fellow patrons were drunk and no longer as watchful of their purses. But first, Allan’s companion had acquainted him with some of the more specialized establishments.  While Allan had occasionally gone to female prostitutes in Nottingham, he had never heard of men working in brothels before.  The first he and Sir Jasper visited was lavish with ornamentation, but too full of men younger than Allan, some barely out of their teens; the second was far more to his liking.  It was less decorative and clean, but the available men had seen more of life, in more ways than one.  He wanted someone from whom he could learn, and learn he did.  He returned several times over the course of the fortnight he spent in London.

The brothel was owned by a younger son of landowner, and Allan quickly learned that it served as a meeting place for some of London’s most successful criminals.  On his second visit, he had been apprehended in the middle of picking a pocket by two very large, muscular men and taken to their master.  He expected to meet an ignoble end, but it turned out that the man merely wanted to offer him a job training the younger pickpockets in his service.  He, too, had been born to wealth, but had lost his lands when his father had been killed in the crusades and another nobleman had claimed his lands, since the heir was too young to defend them. Allan had thanked him, but politely refused.  Still, it was a relief to learn that he might have prospects for the future, if things did not work out in his favor in Nottingham.

Indeed, he was amazed by how many men he met with similar stories.  He had never given much thought to the possibilities for men who found themselves in situations like Guy's, but now he realized there were several.  He knew managing a brothel might be difficult for Guy given his past, being prostituted by the knight he served before Vaisey, but he might find a life outside the law gratifying.  According to most of the people in Nottinghamshire, he was a criminal already; how different could it be?

By the end of the first week, Allan had made the acquaintance of several promising charlatans who might provide a distraction for Vaisey from the people he wanted to harm, and when he set off on his return journey, it was with a promise from one that he would visit Nottingham within the week. As he rode, Allan considered that it might have been a mistake to invite only one, but he knew that if he gave Vaisey the opportunity to make a selection, he could almost be guaranteed to choose the wrong one, even if unwittingly.  What Allan’s man had to offer was sure to be almost irresistibly sinister and useful.

Still, the most valuable thing Allan had gained was time to plan his future.  Even if Robin was able to accomplish all the he had planned and bring King Richard safely back to England, there was no guarantee that his own position would be any better than it had been before.  And there was even less certainty about Guy.  He was confident that Robin would reward his loyalty in some way, however temporarily, but he sometimes wondered if he would even tell the king about what Guy had done to help him.  He’d been ill-disposed to acknowledge it before he left, but Allan was sure he had told him about the regicide attempt, and that worried him.  How would the king weigh one fact against the other, especially in light of Robin’s no doubt biased account?

As he rode, he formed a plan.  He would leave as soon as the King returned to England.  London might be close to him, but it would much further away from the memories Robin and others had of their sins.  While he would miss his friends, Will and Djaq especially, there was nothing else tying him to Nottingham.  The greatest difficulty would be in persuading Guy to come with him.

Goat quickened his pace further as soon as Locksley was in sight, and Allan made no effort to slow him.  After two weeks of cobblestone, he knew the horse was anxious for the feel of grass again, but he could not stop for long.  It was almost impossible to control him, though, when he caught sight of Guy’s mare in the paddock.  What was she doing there? Allan hoped she had not been injured, but what other reason could there be? He tied Goat securely in front of the house despite his pleading whinnies and knocked at the door.  When Ruth opened it, she seemed pleased enough to invite him in, but when he inquired about Marian he learned that she had gone to visit one of the peasants.  And then he heard footsteps in the hall behind him that were far too heavy to be hers.

“Allan?” came a deep voice, and he turned to see Guy gaping at him in wide eyed disbelief.

“Hello, Giz,” he replied, a bit nervously.  Was he happy to see him or just shocked?

Guy answered that unasked question by wrapping his arms around Allan and pulling him to his chest so tightly that he felt his feet leave the floor.

“Good to see you too, Giz . . . can’t breathe” he creaked out, inhaling deeply when Guy released him with an apology.

Allan leaned in again to give him a shorter, gentler hug. Stepping back, he smiled up at him.

“It’s so good to see you, Giz.  You can’t imagine how much I’ve missed you.”

“Oh, I think I can,” Guy replied with a happy smirk. “A lot has happened while you were away.”

Allan felt his smile fade.  “Yes.  I’ve gathered that.  What are you doing here? Did you and the Sheriff fight?”

“Not exactly,” he said, pointing to a small scratch on his face.  “It’s healed a lot, but the Sheriff gave me that after you left.  Marian stitched it up, and she told me not to go back unless the Sheriff sent for me.  He hasn’t.”

“Marian,” Allan repeated, considering.  He wondered how she had convinced Guy to stay away, and what the inevitable consequences of that decision would be. “How long ago was that?”

“About a week.”

Allan nodded, suddenly very glad he had gone to Locksley first.  Vaisey’s account of Guy leaving him was sure to be far more worrisome, but he didn’t want to alarm Guy by reminding him of that. “How is Marian? Has she been nice to you?”

Guy smiled.  “She’s well, and yes, very.  She’ll be happy to know you’re back; she’s just visiting Eleri.”

Allan cocked his head in confusion.  It was nearly a year that he had been with Guy, and he had never heard him call a peasant who was not one of his household servants by their first name.  Perhaps this was a servant who had come to Locksley while he was away, and was at home ill? “Who’s Eleri?”

“The swineherd’s wife,” Guy replied simply, but a moment later he gave an awkward little smile, as though he realized how odd it was for him to know that.

“Well, look at you,” Allan teased.  “Learning names after five years as lord of Locksley! A lot _has_ changed.”

Allan only smiled more broadly as Guy began to shift under his scrutiny.  He didn’t want to leave him again so soon, but he knew the longer he stayed the more difficult it would be to go to the Sheriff. He would likely not be as lucky as Guy if the Sheriff learned he had returned from anyone but himself.

“Listen, Giz.  I have to go to the Sheriff, but I’ll be back tonight for dinner.  Tell Marian ‘thanks’ for me.”

Guy knitted his brows in confusion. “Thanks for what?”

“For taking care of you, of course.  You look so rested! Life away from Vaisey suits you.”

Guy rolled his eyes, but the slight blush that crept into his cheeks was enough to satisfy Allan.

“Alright, off to meet with the dragon.  I’ll see you again soon!”

* * *

The meeting with Vaisey went as anticipated, for the most part.

“So, you’ve learned absolutely nothing in two weeks, is that what I’m to gather?”

It was all Allan could do to keep his face neutral; he had been out of practice in dealing with this level of pressure.

“What you’re to gather is that no one knows any more than you do, my lord.  That’s different.  If they were all working together to exclude you from some grand scheme, then you’d have reason to worry.  But it appears to be every man for himself.  However, there is good news.”

The Sheriff narrowed his eyes.  “There had better be,” he sneered, advancing on Allan dangerously.

“As I mentioned, all of the other Black Knights are desperate for ways to protect their own lands and castles in the case that Winchester’s mission fails and the king returns.  Most have done so by struggling to outbid each other for mercenaries, which is why Guy was not able to . . .”

“Yes, yes, why Gisborne failed me so miserably.  Tell me something I don’t know!” Vaisey demanded.

“Right, well, there are no mercenaries to be had, unfortunately, but how much do you actually care about those who live outside the castle?  Richard won’t be interested in harming farmers and mine workers.  The only people he’ll be interested in ‘bringing to justice,’ as Hood would say, are . . . you, and whatever supporters you still have in the shire.”

“And you, of course,” the Sheriff added with a malevolent leer.

“And me.  And Guy.”

“Pfft! Gisborne,” the older man scoffed angrily.  When Allan paused, though, he urged him on with a wave of his hand.  “I’ll tell you about Gisborne later.  You were saying?”

“What? Oh . . . yes. You’re not interested in protecting your lands.  You’re interested in protecting the castle.  So what do you need mercenaries for?”

“What do I need?” Vaisey asked, finally getting intrigued.

“You need someone who knows about defending structures.  In London, I met a man who specializes in tunnel architecture.”

The Sheriff’s face fell, his distrustful frown returning.  “What do I need with a tunnel? That would be almost inviting Richard’s army in.”

Allan put on his own malicious grin.  “Almost, but not quite.  What if your tunnel were full of explosives?”

Vaisey’s eyebrows raised, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth for a moment before it disappeared. “What makes you think that will work? We’ve never had much success with trapped tunnels and vaults before, with Hood.”

“Well, this tunnel isn’t designed to blow up a handful of outlaws; it will be designed to blow up a battalion of soldiers.  Without weakening the structure of the walls, of course.”

Vaisey narrowed his eyes, stroking his chin thoughtfully.  “I’m not sure I understand how that would work exactly, but you have my attention.  Where is this man?”

Allan exhaled with relief.  “He’s on his way.  He told me to expect him next week.”

“Good.  We’ll see what he has to say then. But for now . . . Gisborne.”

At the sound of his lover’s name, Allan steeled himself, expecting the worst. “What about him?”

“Gisborne has abandoned me.”

It was a struggle to keep his mouth straight, but Allan was hardly surprised by his words.  Of course he would paint himself as the injured party. “What do you mean, my lord?”

“Since he brought me the paltry collection of misfit mercenaries who are currently taking up a handful of cottages in Nettlestone, I haven’t seen him or heard from him.”

Considering a moment, Allan decided to buy some time.  “Are you sure he isn’t ill?”

Vaisey scoffed again.  “So ill that he couldn’t send word to tell me he was? If he’s that ill, he must be close to death, and what good would he be to me then? Not that he’s been much good in your absence, or even long before.  I blame that minx.”

Allan pretended ignorance, as he had always done when “that minx” came up in conversation.  “Who? Marian?”

“That’s the one, Allan.  I should’ve executed her back as soon as I suspected she was in league with Robin Hood.  I can’t believe I spared her for Gisborne’s sake, and look how he’s repaid me? Well, it’s not much more trouble to take care of the pair of them.”

Allan’s gasp was entirely artless.  Did the Sheriff really mean to kill Guy and Marian? “But . . . but who will be your Master at Arms?”

Vaisey grinned.  “Oh, wouldn’t you like to know?”

Gaining understanding, Allan felt his heart begin to pound with anxiety.  He had felt bad enough about joining the Sheriff’s service the previous year; how would he bear being his second in command? He only hoped his silence would be interpreted as shock rather than misgiving.

“Oh, come on, Ally,” Vaisey purred.  “You can’t be that surprised. I did give you Knighton Hall.”

“Yes,” Allan said, returning to silence, grimacing internally at the nickname.  Just one of the many indignities the Sheriff’s Master at Arms would have to suffer.

“There’s just one little thing you have to do.”

Allan’s eyes widened.  “You want . . . me to kill Guy?”

Vaisey grinned in answer, and Allan suddenly felt he could collapse.  How could he possibly react to that?

“When? Before I start?”

Now it was Vaisey’s turn to consider.  “No, someone needs to fill the position right away.  If I have to talk to one more idiot guard myself, I’ll execute the whole lot of them, which might be . . . rash.  I need someone to do my bidding.”

Once he had a moment to think, Allan realized something.  This was perhaps his only real chance to protect Guy and Marian.  “Thank you, my lord.  It would be an honor.  Just . . . give me time to deal with Gisborne in my own way.”


	26. Hints

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some non-explicit sex in this chapter. It's discussed more than described, and begins after the second section break. There are also some mentions of prostitution.

“What did I tell you?” Guy asked with a rueful smile at Marian when Allan told him about the meeting with the Sheriff.

She looked thunderstruck. “Oh no, Allan!” she gasped. “I knew he was evil, but I wasn’t sure he would go this far. How could he even think of ordering Guy killed after so many years of service? What are you going to do?”

“Well, don’t worry.  I am not going to kill Guy.”

Marian rolled her eyes, but Allan watched from across the table as she reached for Guy’s hand, giving it a squeeze.  That was certainly new and unexpected.

“But apart from that, I don’t know.  I’ll just see how it goes. The Sheriff didn’t seem to be in a rush.”

Marian nodded, seemingly satisfied for the moment.  “Tell me more about the man with the explosives.”

The more Allan explained, the more skeptical she became and the more questions she asked.  Finally, he gave up in exasperation.  “My man will know what to say to the Sheriff, Marian.  He’s the expert!”

“I know that,” she replied.  “But consider, Allan, who is going to be building this tunnel? The mercenaries? That’s not likely.  The Sheriff is going to demand this of people who are used to hard labor. Is he going to explain to them? How will I be able to convince the men, when their wives come to me, that they’re ultimately helping Robin?”

Allan tapped his chin thoughtfully.  It was a good question, and he hadn’t even considered it.  “Listen, Marian.  They’ll know the tunnel is going into the castle, right? And that it’s big enough for several men to walk in shoulder to shoulder.  If the explosives are disabled, or ineffective, it will help the king’s army to get right inside the castle! All we have to do is make sure that’s the case, and that the Sheriff believes it to be otherwise.”

Much to his relief, Marian smiled approvingly.  “Thank you, Allan.  I can tell them that.”

He no longer felt as confident as of the plan as he had that morning, but he was relieved that Marian had ended her interrogation. He glanced at Guy, who had been watching them with quite amusement.  “Do you have any questions for me, Giz?”

Guy gave him a mischievous smirk.  “I do, actually.  Has he given you a nickname yet?”

Allan sighed, and his features twisted in revulsion.  “He called me ‘Ally,’” he replied.

Guy barked with laughter.  “Well, if you made that face, he’ll call you that every day.”

He cringed, muttering, “I’m glad you’re enjoying this, Guy.”  But he felt a pang of regret when the smile vanished.  It was rare enough that Guy played with him; he shouldn’t have spoiled it.  He suddenly felt a desire to get him alone, to ask and tell him things he didn’t want to expose to Marian’s scrutiny.

“I hope it’s alright if I sleep downstairs tonight,” he said, addressing her.  “I did stop by Knighton to let Adams know I’m back.  He started babbling about peasants from Nettlestone in the hall until I had to tell him I’d make other plans for tonight to get him to calm down.”

Marian surprised him by giving Guy a stern look.  “You didn’t tell him?” she asked accusingly.  He returned her look with a sheepish smile, and then turned to Allan.  “I’m sorry, pet.  Those are the peasants I had to force out to make way for the Sheriff’s mercenaries.”

“And so you moved them into my house?” He suddenly realized how possessive that sounded, and shot his own apologetic look at Marian, but she was paying no attention to him.   Instead, she was smiling proudly at Guy.

“There were a lot more, Allan, but Guy invited them to return home.”

Allan widened his eyes, exaggerating his shock as he turned to Guy.  “Well, you’re definitely not living up to your reputation, are you?”

Guy shrugged.  “It’s a small matter, Allan.  I don’t think it’s nearly enough to change my reputation.” Yet as he spoke, he continued to look fondly at Marian.  Allan found himself glancing back and forth between them; they had the air of people who had had the same conversation again and again, and yet there was more affection for the topic than weariness.  For the first time in months, Allan felt himself growing jealous of Marian.  There were changes, however small, in Guy that she knew about, and he didn’t.  Not yet, anyway. He caught their attention by yawning dramatically.

“That’s a long road from Nottingham to London, isn’t it? It feels longer than it is.  I’m tired.  I think I’m going to bed early.”

“Of course,” Marian replied cheerily.  “Go ahead, we won’t keep you up.  You must be so exhausted.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her, unsmiling.  Usually, Marian was not one to miss a hint, but there she was, looking back at him in complete bewilderment. He gave up on her and turned to Guy.  “Will you come down in a little while, Giz?” He hated to so blunt, but Marian had left him little choice.

Guy immediately looked to Marian.  “Oh, God, please don’t ask her permission!” Allan groaned inwardly.  He had been dreaming of what was to come since the first excitement of London had worn off. If anything, his visits with prostitutes had only made him miss Guy more.

Marian smiled at him in sudden understanding.  “Oh, I see.  You’re not tired of being awake.  You’re tired of making conversation with me!” she said playfully.  “I’ll go up and finish my sewing. I may even finish my second dress tonight.  Guy, make sure Allan has everything he needs.” It was unmistakably an order, not a request.  Allan found himself wondering how necessary it was, but his misgivings were quickly overridden by the joy of having Guy to himself again.

* * *

When Guy finally came down after what seemed to Allan a nearly endless goodnight to Marian, he saw that he was already changed for bed.  He wondered if he would have noticed had the shirt he changed into had been less striking.

“Is that . . . a color, Giz?”

Guy looked down at his dark green shirt.  “I’m afraid so.”

“Explain.  That thing is so bright it hurts my eyes!”

“Oh come on, Allan.  It’s not so bad.  Marian . . .”

“Marian made it, I know,” Allan piped in soothingly.  “I thought she must have, because why else would you be wearing it?”

Guy gave him a coy smirk.  “Well, if it bothers you so much . . . I could take it off?”

“I would appreciate that,” Allan replied with a smirk of his own.  “I hate your pants, too.”

* * *

A few minutes later when they were naked under covers, Allan pulled back from a kiss to say, “So, you didn’t ask me how I liked London.”

“No, I didn’t,” Guy admitted, stroking down Allan’s back. “I was waiting for you tell us, but then I thought there might be something you didn't want to say in front of Marian.”

“That was a good guess.  It’s not bad news, but I don’t think she would appreciate it.”

Guy smirked knowingly.  “Did Sir Jasper take you to any brothels?”

“How did . . . what brothels? And how do you know it was him?” Allan gasped with surprise.

“You’re not the first person the Sheriff has sent to give him messages.  And if Jasper is good at anything it’s . . . knowing which men would want to go to those brothels. Did you enjoy yourself?”

Allan scanned Guy’s face in the faint candlelight for any signs of judgement, but all he saw was enthusiasm and curiosity. “I did.  I wasn’t sure what it would be like with . . . male whores.  But it wasn’t any different, really.”

“Really? Did you fuck them?”

Allan shifted with discomfort.  “I . . . yes.  Are you surprised?”

“No, pet,” Guy cooed, reassuringly. “But I was curious. I thought you might wonder what it was like, having someone else fuck you.”

“Well, fucking someone who’s not you was certainly different.”

Allan thought he saw a blush appear on Guy’s face as he looked away.  Had he said something amiss?

“I’m not surprised.  I . . . haven’t been used to being fucked in a while.”

Suddenly, he understood.  He wasn’t concerned that Allan had been with other men; he was worried about how he compared with them.

He sat up to position himself over Guy and leaned down to press a kiss to the center of his chest. “Listen, Guy,” he said, looking up at him. “I wasn’t looking for anything you don’t give me.  I just wanted to . . . expand my experience.  There’s a lot I could improve.”

Guy reached up to cup the back of Allan’s head, pulling him down into a kiss.  “I don’t have any complaints; you know that.  But . . . if you happened to learn something in London . . . and you want to show me . . .”

Allan grinned at him mischievously.

* * *

As Allan came down from his orgasm, listening to Guy’s heart rate slowing underneath his ear, he reflected on what had just happened between them.  It had been good, but different from what he expected. Guy had been different than he expected. 

Usually when they began kissing, Guy would press his groin against him, letting him feel his erection.  Not demanding, but just reminding him that he was always ready for more.  But this time, he had pulled away again and again until finally Allan straddled his hips and pressed down against him.  And then he had found him to be only half hard. More intriguingly, when he had taken one of Guy’s nipples gently between his teeth, something he usually loved, he had yelped and when Allan released him he covered the abused nub with his hand.  For a moment, Allan wondered if the Sheriff had gotten more creative with his punishments of Guy, but then he remembered that he had not seen him in a week.  He decided to put aside these musings in favor of having Guy move to the edge of the bed and put his legs on Allan’s shoulders.  They were heavier than the prostitute’s had been, but once he found that the angle allowed him to brush against the deliciously sensitive spot inside Guy that Guy always found in him, it was of little consequence. He had come quickly and loudly, bringing Allan along with him.

Perhaps it was best that Guy had not been desperate from too long an abstinence.  It had possibly made him more open to new ideas than he would usually be.  But it still did not sit well with Allan.  Someone had been touching his lover in his absence, and he thought it very unlikely that the peasants he had moved out of Locksley had been that grateful for their return.

“Giz,” he said softly, so as not to startle him, “I need to ask you something.”

“What, pet?” he murmured, sounding as though he might drop off to sleep at any moment.

“What has been going on between you and Marian?”

He felt Guy’s body give an incriminating little jerk underneath him, and his heartbeat quickened again.  He spoke with a little tremor in his voice. “What? What makes you think Marian and I . . .”

“Where to begin?” Allan thought to himself.  “Just . . . the way you were just now.  And . . . the way you were at dinner.  I don’t know, Giz, you just seem . . . closer than you used to be.  And you’ve been with someone; that much is certain.”

Guy sighed deeply.  “Yes.  We're not . . . She's not letting me touch her, but  . . . it's been like before.”

Allan lifted his head and sat up, looking into his lover’s eyes.

“You’ll have to be a little more specific, Giz.  Before when? And what have you been  doing?”

Guy looked at him, and then looked away.  “Remember when we were at the castle? When she . . . she . . . " 

"She tied you to the  headboard and brought you off with her hand?” Allan supplied, his voice clipped with anger.

Guy nodded, his eyes going wide with worry.

Allan tried to calm himself as a hot ball of rage began to grown in his chest.  He had trusted her! Against his better judgment, he had kept quiet about Guy moving back to Locksley, after the initial surprise, and about him sharing a bed with her.  He had thought she cared about Guy, at least that he would be safe from her and her wayward desires.  But she had only been waiting for Allan to be away.

“Pet, don’t be angry,” Guy pleaded after a long silence.  Allan looked down again to see the panic in his expression, and the sight quieted his anger.  He lay down next to him, wrapping an arm around his waist and laying his head on his shoulder.  “I’m not angry with you, Giz.  I just . . . I didn’t think that would happen again.  But I don’t blame you for it.”

For a moment, that seemed enough for Guy.  He relaxed against Allan and closed his eyes.  A moment later, though, he opened them again, looking at Allan thoughtfully.

“Don’t be angry with Marian either.  It’s no more her fault than it is mine.”

Allan yawned again. He was in no fit state to respond to that yet. “Listen, I really am getting sleepy now, Giz.  We’ll talk about this in the morning, yeah?”


	27. News From the Holy Land

They did not talk about it in the morning.  Allan got up early to return to the castle, telling Guy that he simply had a lot of catching up to do after his trip.  He had meant it as an excuse, but it turned out to be true.  He had spent most of the day taking inventory of the men and weapons the Sheriff had acquired while he was away.  The rest of his time had been spent reassuring Vaisey, whose paranoia seemed to only have grown.  At times, Allan suspected that he missed Guy in his own, selfish way.  Not out of affection, but out of the knowledge that he could say and do anything he pleased to him.  With Allan, he seemed to be keeping his viciousness in check.  “It’s as though he knows I could simply disappear,” Allan thought to himself. He wasn’t going to do that, but it could only help him for Vaisey to think he might.

That night, he had elected to go straight back to Knighton after leaving the castle, sending a servant to tell Guy and Marian he was too tired to come for dinner.  It was only partly true; the more he thought about what Guy had told him, the less he thought it likely that he could be around her without bringing it up.  And that could not do anything to help any of them. He resolved to remain silent until the situation demanded that he speak up. 

On the second day after his return, Allan arrived at the castle to find that Vaisey’s anxiety had reached fever pitch.  He was pacing back and forth in his room, muttering curses under his breath.  Allan knew of only one person who could reduce him to that level of frustration.

“Has there been word from the Holy Land, my lord?” he asked, almost fearing the answer.

Vaisey advanced on him so quickly that Allan worried for a moment that he was about to be hit.  He shoved an opened letter into his hand.

“There, you just read that for yourself!” he snapped.

Allan looked pointedly from the letter to the Sheriff’s face several times before the older man remembered.

“Oh, give it here!” he demanded, snatching it back.  “Sir Jasper’s messenger delivered it this morning; it’s from one of our spies in Acre.” He cleared his throat and began:

          _I have just learned that Winchester and the knights accompanying him have all been slain.  Apparently, they were expected.  Someone must have notified the king just before their arrival.  Also, peace discussions with Saladin appear to be coming to a head.  I will write again when plans become more definite._

Allan was almost too astounded to respond.  “That’s all?” he asked finally.

“Yes, that’s all!” Vaisey screeched.  “It just vague enough drive anyone mad.  It does confirm one thing, though.  We know where Hood has gone at last.”

Allan blanched.  Would that make any difference in the Sheriff’s treatment of those Robin had left behind? Or their protectors?

“How do you know it was Hood?”

The older man turned on him with a fierce grin.  “Who else could possibly foil our plans so efficiently, Ally? Who? Besides, it explains where he’s been all these months.  I certainly hope this man you say is coming is as good as you say, for your sake!”

Allan knew he should be worried about that, but he couldn’t help worrying more about what would happen if the Sheriff’s assumption was correct. If Robin had succeeded in the task for which he had left, wouldn’t he be on his way home now?

“Is there a date on the letter, my lord?”

Vaisey glanced at it again.  “The twelfth of October,” he read.

“Well,” Allan said with an imitation of cheeriness, “At least we know that it has been sent to you quickly.  The messenger must have gotten it copied and brought it to you as soon as it arrived; that was only a month ago! It must have arrived just after I left.”

The older man narrowed his eyes at him thoughtfully.  “Well, you’re certainly more optimistic than Gizzy,” he observed.  Then he handed him the letter.  “Take this to the scribe to have it copied.  Don’t lose any time.”

* * *

Allan did what he was told, and more.  After obtaining the first copy, he took it to another scribe for a duplicate.  He thought Marian might appreciate a copy of the letter for herself, and it would be easier than recalling every detail for her. Once he had the copies, he made a brief trip to the dungeon with the gold Vaisey had given him upon his return.

When he first entered, it was hard to distinguish the men in the cells from each other.  All were dressed in rags, and the light was dim to begin with.  After several minutes of searching, he thought he saw a familiar face.

“Jailer,” he called. “Release the small one, with the blond hair.  The Sheriff wants to question him.”

A few moments later, the pickpocket who had attempted to rob Vaisey weeks ago emerged.  After a few inquiries with guards, the Master at Arms had learned that he had not been executed after all; the Sheriff had simply forgotten him. Allan looked over him, noticing that he was thinner than he remembered, but then he had been a malnourished little thing when he first saw him. Taking him into a corridor where they could not be overheard, Allan asked, “Do you have a family?”

The young man considered for a moment before answering.  “No.”

“What’s your name?”

Another pause.  “Matthew.”

“Well, Matthew,” Allan asked, “how would you like to make some money honestly?”

A few minutes later, Matthew was on his way to Portsmouth with enough coins to outfit himself with new clothes and stay at the inn, awaiting a ship arriving from the Holy Land.  Allan was not naïve; he knew it was likely that he would forego the trip altogether, going to London instead. He could hardly blame him, but if he did, at least Robin could not accuse him of having helped no one in his position of power.  And if he sought to repay Allan’s service as he asked, well, it couldn’t hurt to have his own spy watching the coast; he was certain the black knights would.

* * *

As he rode to Locksley at the end of the day, he found himself torn between two points of concern.  On the one hand, the knowledge Vaisey now had of Robin being so far away was potentially dangerous for everyone who depended on him for protection, but things had really not been worse for them in the four months he had been gone already. A bigger problem would be protecting Marian and Guy if the Sheriff discovered the truth of their situation, but honestly, who was going to tell him?”

On the other hand, what if Robin was on his way back already? If it had taken a month for the letter to arrive, how far behind was the man himself? For all they knew, Robin and the gang could be back by the end of the week!  In that case, what would he do? He could probably help the gang most as the Master at Arms, but how would he disguise that help from the Sheriff when he was working so closely with him? Perhaps Marian would have some ideas.

But that was a third issue.  How would Robin react to what had been going on in his absence? From a practical standpoint, nothing Marian could do would make more sense than what she had done, but when had Robin ever been practical with regards to Guy? And even if she did have to convince people that the baby was his, she didn’t have to be as intimate with him as she had been.

Against his better judgment, Allan found himself growing angrier the closer he got to Locksley.  Someone, probably more than one person, was going to get hurt no matter what Robin did, but there was one thing for which he would absolutely not stand.

* * *

He was mostly quite through dinner, hoping his companions would read it as continuing evidence of his exhaustion.  But once the plates had been cleared away, he withdrew the letter from his jacket and handed it to Marian.

“Here, this came to the Sheriff this morning.  He has the original, but I had a copy made for you,” he said when she looked up at him questioningly.

She read in silence.  “What does it say,” Guy asked softly, but Allan could hear the anxiety in his voice.  He was likely suspicious from the moment his lover handed the letter to her instead of him.

“Robin!” she gasped with a wide smile.

Guy tilted his head in confusion. “That’s what it says?”

“No,” she replied brightly, “but it says that someone told the king that the assassins were coming.  That’s what Robin went to do! He was successful!”

Guy gave a little smile, and it tugged at Allan’s heart.  He knew this could not be as pleasant news for him, but here he was, trying to support Marian in something that made her happy.  Anger quickly joined sympathy, tightening his chest.

“What does it say about Winchester?” Guy asked in the same quiet tone.

“He’s dead,” she answered dismissively, continuing to read the letter as though looking for a clue in the handful of words that she may have missed earlier. “They’re all dead.”

He turned Allan with a smirk.  “Imagine that.  What must the rest of the black knights think? It’s almost as though killing the king is hard! What a pity they didn’t have anyone to tell them that.”

Allan couldn’t help smiling at his sarcasm, but the Marian chimed in.  “That’s not the point, Guy the point is that Robin . . .” Her expression changed as she trailed off, as though she finally realized the full meaning this news would have for him. “Is . . . coming . . . back,” she continued slowly.

“I’m glad you see the point,” Allan said with a rueful smile.  The he turned to Guy.  “Giz, you’re the only one who’s made this trip; how long does it take to get from the Holy Land back to England?”

Guy’s mood had changed dramatically.  Just a second before, he was almost chipper, but as Allan studied him he saw how listless and tired he looked suddenly. He considered for a moment, “It took me about a month, but it can certainly take longer if the weather is bad, if a ship needs repairing . . . there are a lot of reasons why it may take longer.”

Breathing a sigh of frustration, Allan directed a harsh look at Marian.  Even with this crushing news, he was still trying to make her feel better. She paid no attention to Allan’s expression, focusing her attention on Guy.

“I’m not certain he would come back straight away,” she said “He might wait for the king.”

Allan sat back in his chair, lifting a hand to his chin in contemplation.  That had not occurred to him.  It would certainly buy them some time, but what would they do with it?

“Guy, how long do you think an army would take to make that journey?” he asked.

The other man shrugged.  “The sea voyage would take the same amount of time, but boarding and disembarkment would take would take longer with an army.  And, of course, travel by land would take longer.” After pausing for a moment, he turned to Marian.

“May I see that letter?”

He read quickly when she handed to him, a smile forming on his lips.  “The king has not made peace with Saladin yet.  They’re discussing it, but that could take months in itself.”

Looking back and forth between them, Allan could see the conclusions they were forming.  Marian was no doubt happy that Robin was safe, and Guy was glad she was happy, but neither of them was going to face the inevitability of what his return would mean.  Not unless he forced them to.

He turned to Marian with a grim smile.  “But Robin loves you; I’m sure he’s missed you every day that he’s been gone. If he only left you to save the king, and the king is saved, wouldn’t he make his way back to you as soon as possible?”

She arched an eyebrow at him, suspiciously, taking a moment to consider her answer.  “I think that, if I were a higher priority to Robin than the king, he would not have left me behind.”

Allan could imagine the smile those words brought to Guy’s face without turning around.  No doubt, he had been thinking that from the moment Marian had told him that Robin was gone; to hear her say it must be the most beautiful poetry to his ears. Rage began to coil in his belly once again.

“I understand why you would think that after not seeing him for four months, Marian, but how will you feel if he walks through that door tomorrow? What will you tell him about this . . . arrangement?” He looked back and forth between her and Guy for emphasis.

The color drained from her face.  She opened her mouth to answer several times before she finally succeeded in saying, “Well, of course I’ll tell him how helpful Guy has been.  I don’t think I would be doing nearly as well as I am had he not come, and neither would the baby.”

Allan glanced back at Guy, who was still smiling bashfully.  He hadn’t grasped the point yet.

Turning his attention back to Marian, he continued prodding.  “And?”

Her forehead creased with uncertainty.  “And that he’s been living here? We’ve been sharing the bed to avoid . . . detection?”

Allan put his elbows on the table, leaning towards her.  “And?” he repeated.

Marian looked from him to Guy and back again.  “Did he tell you . . . ?”

“Guy didn’t tell me anything, Marian,” Allan hissed.  “I figured it out myself.  Which Robin may very well do; he’s almost as clever as I am.  But my question is, are you going to leave him to do that himself?”

She looked down at the table, seemingly chastened, but when she looked back up it was with a defiant glint in her eyes. “What possible good would it do Robin, or Guy, or anyone for me to tell him what Guy and I have been doing?

“What good will it do Guy for you to pretend nothing has happened between you?” Allan growled in response.  When she remained silent, he added “is it truly your plan to carry on as though none of this matters? Or are you going to pretend it was only for his benefit? Again?”

She narrowed her eyes again before opening them wide in sudden realization.  She looked at Guy, her mouth falling open in horror.  “You did tell him!” she cried.

Allan turned to see him hanging his head.  “Marian, I . . .” Guy began plaintively, but Allan was too incensed to let him finish.

“Don’t blame him,” he snapped.  “Of course he told me about it! You lied to him and manipulated him; you broke his heart.  Then when you learned he still had feelings for you, in spite of all of that, you seduced him! Why should he protect your secret, Marian? Tell me, what have you done to deserve that kind of loyalty?”

Her face was almost scarlet and on the table her hands and tightened into fists.  In her fury, she clearly struggled to keep her voice even.  “You paint a bleak picture of my behavior, Allan.  But since I told Guy that I love Robin, I have not taken it back.  He knows my feelings for Robin, and I have not given myself to him.  Our marriage remains unconsummated.”

Allan gaped at her in disbelief, trembling with vexation.  Apparently, not even Robin’s absence wasn’t enough to stop Marian from hiding behind him.

“I’m not bein’ funny, Marian, but . . . do you really think you’re not culpable for any of this just because Guy hasn’t put his cock in you?”

“Allan, please!” Guy cried sharply from the head of the table.

When he turned to look at him, he felt his heart drop.  Guy looked almost as devastated as he had when that night in the castle all those months ago when he came to tell Allan what Marian had done.  That had not been his intention, and yet his anger with her had not quite abated.

“I’m sorry, Giz.  I’m almost finished,” he said, standing up from the table.  Then he turned to Marian.

“You think you’re so holy because you haven’t given yourself to Guy, whatever that means, but that hasn’t stopped you from taking and taking from him.  You’ve taken his love and devotion, his position, which he’s given up so much to get, his trust.  And you’ve given him nothing in return except a few minutes of pleasure. I may not be as religious as you are, Marian, but surely _that_ is more sinful than consummating your bloody marriage would be.”

He waited for a response from her, but none came; she was simply looking down dejectedly at her hands, which he noticed had relaxed.  He glanced back at Guy, who was staring at the two of them, his mouth open wide in shock. At least he didn’t look like he was about to cry anymore, Allan thought, suddenly exhausted. All he wanted to do was leave, to go back to Knight and try to get some sleep in the cold, empty bed there.  But there was still one more thing he had to say.

“Marian,  you have to decide before Robin gets back, be it a day or a year from now. If Guy really means so little to you, leave him alone! If you actually do care for him now, you have to tell Robin.  You have to protect him from Robin’s jealousy, because I don’t know if I can do it by myself. But if you keep doing what you’re doing, and turn around and lie when things get hot for you, so help me I’ll tell Robin myself.  You’re not going to break Guy’s heart again and come out clean.”

And with that he left, without a look back at either of them.


	28. Worries

After Allan’s departure, Marian and Guy sat in stony silence.  He struggled to grasp what had just happened.  Though he realized Allan was standing up for him, it left him with an uneasy, foreign feeling.  No one had done that for him that he could remember. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel a sense of gratitude, but it mingled with discomfort.  The anger always seemed to do that to him, no matter the reason behind it.

Marian’s voice startled him out of his reverie.

“You’re not going with him?” she asked flatly.

Guy remained silent for a moment, thinking.  It hadn’t occurred to him to leave when Allan did; his last statement had such a finality in it that he still wasn’t sure if he wanted him at Knighton.

“Not when he’s so upset.  I don’t want to make it worse.”

Marian gave a bitter little scoff.  “Oh, he’s not upset with _you_ , Guy! I didn’t think Allan had that much fury in him, but I am certain that it was all directed at me.” Then she paused for a moment, watching him thoughtfully.  “I know shouting and . . . harsh words worry you,” she said in a softer tone.  “I’ve seen how nervous it makes you when I’m angry, but take my word for this; what Allan feels for you is obviously not that.”

There was the discomfort again.  How was he supposed to respond to that? “He shouldn’t have talked to you like that, Marian.  He . . . I wish he hadn’t said what he did.”

She gave him a doubtful look. “Which part?”

Guy balked at her question.  He had been so dumbstruck by Allan’s tirade that it was hard to seize upon anything specific that he found objectionable.

“He shouldn’t have threatened you,” he said finally.  “If he told Robin, I . . . I know that would frighten you.”

Marian sighed.  “Well, I am a bit worried about what Robin would do. I don’t think he would hurt me, you understand.  But I know he’d be hurt. And disappointed.”

“What do you think he would do?” Guy asked nervously. He had never considered that Hood might harm Marian, not when his confidence in his claim to her had been so unshakable.  But he supposed things had happened since his departure that might shake it after all.

She sighed and leaned forward, burying her hands in her hair at the temples.  “I don’t know, Guy!” she cried in exasperation.  “I don’t know what he’ll do or what I’ll do when he gets here.  I just . . . I’m too tired to think about it now.”

Guy got out of his chair to stand behind her, laying his hands on her shoulders and rubbing gently, just as she had comforted him the day after Allan left.  Though he was uncertain of how she would respond, he didn’t know what else to do. As she relaxed into his touch, he exhaled with relief.

“Don’t worry, darling,” he cooed.  “We won’t talk about it anymore tonight.”

She said nothing, but nodded and lifted one of her hands to cover his, stilling his movement and giving him a gentle squeeze.  Then she got up slowly and made her way upstairs to be bedroom.  Guy followed some minutes later.

When he arrived in the bedroom, Marian was already lying down with the covers pulled up under her chin.  Guy blew out the candle and got into bed as quietly as possible, trying not to waken her.  When she spoke, though, it was with a clarity that make it clear she had not been sleeping.

“It’s not true, Guy.  I hope you know that.”

He knit his brows with confusion in the darkness.  What was she talking about? “What’s not true?” he asked.

The bed shifted as she rolled onto her side, facing his back and lifting her hand to his shoulder.

“It’s not true that I don’t care for you.  I may have done things that I . . . regret in the past week, but I don’t regret staying with you.  And I will tell Robin that, whether he likes it or not.”

He wasn’t sure how to respond to that; there was absolutely nothing that had happened between them that he regretted, and it hurt him to know that she did wish some things undone.  But she had said that she was too tired for further discussion, and if he were honest, he was as well. He simply said, “thank you,” and she turned away from him again, not speaking for the rest of the night. Guy hoped that she was sleeping; he certainly was not.  He thought about Marian, and what might happen if Robin did appear at Locksley soon, as unlikely as that was.  But mostly thought of Allan.  He knew the younger man cared for him, but he hadn’t realized how much.  He had been willing to look past his hatred of Robin for Allan, but would Allan really turn on Robin to protect him? And if that was how he felt, what did he think of what Guy had done with Marian? Was he jealous? Did he feel as possessive of Guy as Hood no doubt did of her? He knew that he would have to ask him, and the prospect was daunting enough to keep him awake for most of the night.

* * *

The next morning, Marian surprised him by asking what he intended to do that day.  While it was a simple enough question, in the past week it had been he who asked her for his daily schedule.  Usually, it involved him getting her things she needed or doing things inside that she was no longer able to do, but she had also been trying to get him more involved the daily running of the manor: checking inventory of supplies, getting to know the peasants’ names and jobs, managing improvements to the grounds and cottages.  He knew that these were things Thornton had done when he was steward, and thus a dramatic demotion for a knight, but as long as he was doing Marian’s bidding he found he didn’t mind it.

And yet when she asked he knew at once what he had to say.  “I’m going to go to Knighton and wait for Allan.  The Sheriff will probably keep him busy, but he may have to there for something.  He and I . . . need to talk about last night.”

She nodded gravely.  “Yes, and I need to think about last night with a clear head.  I have been trying.  I was up most of the night thinking about it, actually.”

At her admission, Guy felt himself begin to sweat under his shirt. He wanted to tell her that he hadn’t slept either, that he too was distressed, but all he could do was await the inevitable. “Yes?”

“I think Allan is right,” she said, rushing her words as though trying to get them out before it was too late.  “I have to either stop . . . go back to being only your friend, or I have to tell Robin what has happened between us.  And I need time to make that decision.  But I know that I may not have much.  If it takes a month to travel from the Holy Land, of course Robin could be here any day. Any hour, really.”

She looked up at Guy to see that he was following, and was apparently satisfied by the panic he was certain was written all over his face.

“But, at the same time, it could be months, even years, before he comes back.  What if Saladin changes his mind about peace? What if the king does? What if everything goes just as Robin wanted, and on the way home he dies in a shipwreck? These are all things that could happen.  I’ve already had my season of romantic waiting for my lover to return from the crusades.  Eventually, I had to move on with my life. Now, I can’t wait a year or two to do that.  I’ll have a child to provide for.”

Guy nodded.  “Yes, that’s true.  And the deaths of Winchester and his men aren’t the end of the dangers he’ll face there.  There were already supporters of Prince John in the Holy Land who have long been planning the death of the king, and anyone who protects him . . . but, you don’t need me to tell you that, do you?”

Marian shook her head sadly.  “No.  I’m well aware.”

He was almost afraid to ask the next question.  “What if Robin doesn’t come back?”

She bit her lip and turned away, as though the thought was too painful to bear. He was just about to apologize for asking, fearing that he had rushed her, when she looked back at him.

“If Robin does not come back, the only life I can imagine being content with is raising my child with you.”

Guy’s mouth fell open and he stared at her in disbelief.  He had thought many times of what it would be like to raise a child with Marian, even if it was not his child.  She could have another that was his. But to hear that she had been thinking something similar was almost more than he could bear.

“But, please understand, Guy.  The only thing that would ever stop Robin from returning would be death.  And how would I know that he was dead? Who could tell me that that I could trust? I think some part of me would always long for him, would always expect him to come back.  Would you truly want me like that? . . . Don’t answer!”

As she said the last words she held her hand up, palm facing outward, as though creating a shield between herself and whatever Guy might say. He pressed his lips tightly together.  He had wanted to say, yes.  Of course.  I want you in any way I can have you.  But it wasn’t really true.  He had already had her once, he thought, and it hadn’t meant anything until after she became pregnant with another man’s baby.

“Besides, you have Allan,” she pointed out. 

He made no response to that; he certainly did.  There may be things that Allan could not give him, children being only one.  But he could be far more certain that Allan actually wanted him, and was not merely settling for him in the absence of the one he really wanted.

Getting no reply, Marian went on.  “Go to Knighton, as you said.  Spend the night.  I just . . . I need time to myself to decide.”

Guy nodded.  He saw no alternative to waiting for her to make up her mind. “Alright, I’ll spent my nights with Allan until . . . until you say you want me back.  But . . .” he began to sweat again.  Perhaps Marian wanted finally to be rid of him altogether. “Do you still want to see me during the day?”

Marian frowned, suddenly hurt, and reached for him to take both his hands in hers. “Of course I still want you here, Guy! How can you ask that? This isn’t about companionship.  When you’re not here, I’m just a bored, useless pregnant woman.”

He smiled a little at her description.  “I’m sure you’re exaggerating, Marian.  I’m sorry if you’re bored, but you’re hardly useless.”

She returned his smile.  “Well, not when I have you to order around.  Just . . . please don’t think not sleeping with you means I don’t need you, because I still do.”

* * *

Guy was a bit nervous as he waited for Allan to arrive, but it had been for nothing.  Relief was obvious on the younger man’s face as soon as he saw him.

“Oh, Giz.  I’m so glad you’re here! I thought you might be angry with me.  About last night.”

Guy pulled him into a tight hug, feeling guilty.  He certainly hadn’t meant to make Allan feel that way, but apparently his anxiety was almost contagious.

“Did you sleep badly?” he inquired.

When Allan nodded, he added, “So did we.  I thought you might be angry with me because I didn’t go with you.”

Allan gave an embarrassed smile.  “No, I should’ve asked you to come, but I was out of my head.  I’m not used to giving speeches to people about their sins; it’s exhausting! How does Robin do it?”

Guy shrugged with a wry smirk.  “Well, Allan, if you just worked harder at believing you’ve never done anything wrong, maybe it would come easier to you.  At any rate, what you said hit the mark.  She’s apparently been able to think of nothing but what you said since.”

“Good,” he replied bluntly, the smile dropping from his face. “You know, I’ve been over what I said to her again and again, and there’s nothing I’d take back as far as she’s concerned.  It’s high time she thought about what she’s doing to you.”

Reaching for his lover’s hand, Guy smiled, feeling his cheeks flush.  “Well, she didn’t mean any harm, Allan.”

“That’s no excuse! Her not thinking about it isn’t exactly a point in her favor, Giz,” he went on indignantly.  “There is one thing I wish I hadn’t . . . maybe hadn’t forced on her . . . quite so hard.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

Allan sighed and withdrew his hand, sitting back in his chair.  “I wish I hadn’t made such a point of her telling Robin what she’s done with you.  I said she wouldn’t break your heart and come out clean, but her being “clean” isn’t my concern.  Not really.”

Guy quirked an eyebrow, confused.  “What do you mean, Allan?”

Allan leaned forward again, looking up at Guy for a moment before taking his hand again. “Listen, Giz.  You already have enough to worry about with the Sheriff wanting you dead.  Let’s not worry about Robin until we have to, yeah?”

Guy felt his heartbeat quicken.  “No, tell me what you’re thinking.”

With a sigh, Allan continued. “What I’m thinking, is that Robin will be angry with Marian, yes, but he’s not going to hurt a woman.  Especially not a pregnant woman. And most definitely not Marian, carrying his child, if he comes back soon enough. But . . .”

“Go on,” Guy demanded.

“He will try to take it out on you.  God, Guy! He’ll be angry with you just for being at Locksley while Marian’s there, and when he learns how close you’ve become? He may have wanted her to marry you at one time, but he wanted it on very specific terms!” Allan stood up and walked a few paces away, restless with worry.

Guy felt his blood run cold.  He usually tried to think about Robin Hood as little as possible, but now that he was forced to, he could see that Allan was right.

“So, Hood and the Sheriff will both want me dead.  Well, they’ve always enjoyed seeing me humiliated.  It will be just one more thing they have in common.” He tried to sound more sanguine than he felt, but he could see from Allan’s serious expression as he turned to face him that it wasn’t working.

“What do you want me to do, Allan, if he does come back? Explain myself? You know as well as I do that there’s nothing I could say that Hood would want to hear.”

Allan nodded, “That’s true enough.  I think it would be best if you’re just not there when he shows up, and you can’t be sure of that . . . unless you come and live here.”

Guy sat forward with his elbows on his thighs, resting his chin on his interlocked hands.  He knew that what Allan said made sense, but it was too much to ask.

“I can’t do that, Allan.  I can’t leave her.”

The smaller man gazed up at the ceiling in exasperation. “Why not?” he cried.  “What more could you possibly owe that woman?”

Without looking at Allan, Guy forced himself to go on.  “I don’t owe her anything, you’re right.  But I still love her, Allan.  I want to be with you, I really do.  But this is the only chance I’ll ever have to be a good husband to her, and . . . even if it’s only temporary, I can’t give it up.”

Allan looked at him for a long time without speaking, and Guy tried to read his expression as best he could.  He was obviously exhausted, but there was something more, sympathy, and some sorrow in his eyes.  “Alright,” he breathed out, barely loud enough for Guy to hear.

“I’ll still spend nights here, though, if you’ll have me,” he added quickly, hoping to placate him.

“Good.”

Allan’s listless tone was almost enough to make Guy panic again. But there was still something he had to ask.

“Pet, I . . . I’m sorry.  I’m sorry if anything I’ve done has made you unhappy.  I know my feelings for Marian . . . disappoint you, but . . . are you jealous?”

Guy braced himself for another unnervingly long silence, but Allan took him by surprise. Coming to stand in front of him, he took him gently by the shoulders and pressed him against the chair.  Then, looking quickly around the room to make sure no servants were in view, he sat down on his lap.  Guy wrapped his arms around him, holding him close.

“I’ve asked myself that so many times, Giz,” Allan explained. “And I think I don’t feel jealous in the way you think.  I don’t care that you sleep with her, or that you do all these intimate, everyday things.  I wouldn’t even care if you fucked her, probably.  That’s not how I think she’ll take you from me. What I’m afraid of, what I’ve been afraid of since you went to live with her, is that she’ll get you killed.  If either the Sheriff or Robin is responsible for your death, I’ll never forgive her.”

Guy knew he would have no reply to that, no matter how long he thought about it; he just pulled his lover even closer, lying his face against his neck.  He wanted Allan to think better of Marian, to see how good she truly was, in spite of her mistakes, but it was not necessary in that moment.  It was enough to know that one of them loved him and wanted him, and still would after he was gone.  



	29. Illness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Up to this point, each chapter has been written from a single character's point of view, but some of the remaining chapters, including this one, will have PoVs from two or more characters. This will hopefully decrease the number of chapters and give more insight to different characters' views on the same happenings.

In the weeks that followed, Allan found himself adjusting better than he expected to life as the new Master at Arms.  Vincenzo, the architect from London, was as effective in presenting his plans to the Sheriff as Allan had hoped, captivating him with tales of the castles he had defended in similar ways in Italy.  It was doubtful whether any of it were true, but he could certainly tell convincing stories.  Once construction began, Allan had little to do except supervise it, reminding the Sheriff every once in a while of the limitations of productive work, and the toll it took on the workers’ bodies.  “Who’s going to dig for you if they die of exhaustion?”

That was by far the most stressful part of his job.  Even with Vaisey’s more contained rage, he could see why all those years with him had taken such a toll on Guy.  He went home every evening with the Sheriff’s shouts at the peasants and guards still ringing in his ears.

He counted himself lucky that he usually had Guy to go home to.  His lover seemed to have a sixth sense for what he needed after being with the Sheriff all day.  Sometimes he would tell Guy how things were progressing with the tunnel, and other times they would simply talk about what Guy had done during the day.  He left first thing in the morning, sometimes even before Allan was ready to get out of bed, but his arrival in the evening was less consistent.  Usually, he would be waiting when Allan came home at dusk, but if he stayed to have dinner with Marian he would not arrive until after dark.  Those were the nights that worried Allan, especially once the snow began.

As much as he still resented Marian’s hold on Guy, he had to grudgingly admit that she had brought about a positive change in him.  He was more relaxed and comfortable in his skin than Allan had ever known him; he smiled and laughed more easily.  Most of that was probably due to his having escaped from the Sheriff and his incessant criticism and demands, but it was Marian who had facilitated the split between them.  Since Allan also worked for the Sheriff, he could never have persuaded Guy to leave him.  What was needed was a viable alternative, and being a father, on top of being lord of the manor, had been just that. But it was more as well.  Guy had told him before Marian’s confession about Robin that he felt he needed her to be a better man, and privately, Allan had thought it ridiculous.  He assumed Guy meant fathering a son who would continue his family line and restore his name, but what he had gotten was a wife who would not let him touch her, but who taught him how to be civil to servants and have conversations with peasants that didn’t involve threats of violence.  Which had, in turn, led to some of them finally treating him with the respect he had so long coveted.

Even sex with Guy had changed.  Allan had expected him to be more dominant than before, since he had been so teased and used by Marian, but the opposite was true. Guy was even more gentle and affectionate. He wanted to kiss more, to stretch out foreplay until Allan was approaching desperation.  And he hadn’t been so invested in giving Allan pleasure, rather than sharing it, since their relationship first turned sexual.  Then, Guy had felt guilty for how he had treated him, and sometimes Allan wondered if he felt guilty for something else now.  He had asked if he was jealous, but he didn’t think Guy would be able to hide it if Marian were still having her way with him.  As rough as she had been in the past, the signs would likely be hard to miss.  But he knew Guy missed it. Once, he asked Allan if he wanted to tie him up. After some careful thought, he had responded, “I will if you really want me to, but I think maybe you actually want it from her.” Then Guy had kissed his way down Allan’s body as a way of changing the subject, before taking him into his mouth.  He hadn’t brought it up again.

They were just beginning to settle into the kind of normalcy Allan had hoped for when he received a message one evening by way of a groundskeeper at Locksley.  Sir Guy was not going to be able to come that evening; Lady Marian was ill. As angry as he still was with her, Allan felt his heart sink at the news.  He didn’t wish her harm, and he knew Guy would be terribly worried about her.  When he failed to show up the next night as well, Allan sent his own messenger to inquire how she was.  He returned saying that he had spoken to Matilda, whom Guy had summoned.  The midwife said there was little cause for alarm, that most women were ill at some point during their pregnancies.  That made Allan feel somewhat better, but when Guy stayed at Locksley a third night, he began to get frantic again.  At last, Guy returned to him on the fourth night, looking as much worse for wear as if he had been the one who was ill.

“My God, Giz, have you slept at all?” Allan gasped at him after dinner. 

Guy gave a shrug that turned into a stretch as he fought against nodding off. “I slept a little every night.  I was just . . . uncomfortable.”

Allan nodded.  “Ah, the narrow guest bed was too rough on your delicate back after the master beds?” he said with a cheeky grin.

A slight blush colored Guy’s face, and he looked away.  “Oh, I . . . I haven’t been sleeping there.”

“Oh?” Allan inquired, raising his eyebrows.  “Where did you sleep?”

Guy glanced back at him nervously.  “I slept on the floor in the solar on the first two nights.  It wasn’t her idea!” he insisted, no doubt in response to the anger that seethed within Allan at the thought.  “She said I could sleep in the bed, but I didn’t want to . . . crowd her.  But I wanted to be near in case she needed anything in the night.”

“But she’s alright now, isn’t she? You wouldn’t be here if she weren’t.”

Guy gave him a tired little smile. “Oh, yes.  Matilda said she was never in any real danger, but . . . Marian was worried. Because of the baby, and because she hasn’t been ill since all that nausea at the beginning.  So I was worried too.”

Allan tapped on his knee in contemplation. “Where did you sleep last night?”

He could see from the confusion in Guy’s face that he had no idea what he was talking about. “You slept on the floor for two, but you’ve been gone for three.”

“Oh,” Guy replied softly. “She was feeling better, but she said she couldn’t sleep because she was cold, so . . .”

“So?”

He shifted uneasily, looking away from Allan and speaking quickly. “I got in bed with her, sitting against the headboard, and she got on my lap leaning against me and fell asleep like that.”

Allan smiled, hoping his expression was reassuring.  “And you stayed like that all night? No wonder you’re sore!”

Guy looked at him nervously.  “So, you’re not . . .”

“No, I’m not upset,” Allan exclaimed.  “I’m a bit . . . bewildered as to why you’re so willing to make yourself uncomfortable for Lady ‘I’ll be with you if Robin never comes back, but he has to never come back first,’ but I’m not surprised.”

At the smile Guy have him, Allan sighed with relief.  “Come on, Giz.  Let’s go catch up on your sleep.”

* * *

That night, Marian found it difficult to sleep again.  She had just gotten used to sleeping on her own after so many nights with Guy when she came down with a runny nose and cough.  It seemed silly now; she had those symptoms every year in the early winter and always got over them quickly, but she had panicked because of the affect it might have on the baby.  Over time, she had come to embrace, even to be excited about the prospect of giving birth.  She truly wanted to be a mother, whether it was Guy or Robin that the child would come to call father. And the thought that she could lose that after all this time was almost more than she could bear.

When Guy had asked if she wanted him to stay, she was a little embarrassed at how quickly she agreed. She had missed him: both his companionship and his physical presence.  But when night came, she felt too ill to have him in the bed with her or to protest at his insistence on sleeping on the floor in the next room in case she needed him.  She felt guilty, but it was irresistibly comforting to know that someone else was as concerned as she was.

By the time she was feeling better, it had started snowing again, and the temperature inside the manor dropped in spite of the roaring fire the servants kept going downstairs.  She suspected it might be warmer there, but also that a number of the peasants who lived in the nearby cottages would be sleeping near the great fire. So she invited Guy into the bed to help her get warm.  It had initially been her plan to let him wrap his arms around her from behind, as he had before, but as soon as he was under the covers she found herself sliding into his lap and laying her head on his chest.  She had never been so close to him before, but he was so warm and comfortable that she found herself falling asleep almost immediately.  She didn’t move until the next morning, and the way he kept rubbing at his neck, which had pressed against the headboard, and his wrist, his hand having been pushed into the mattress, had her blushing with embarrassment most of the day.  Poor Guy.  She had to wonder if Robin would have been so attentive.  Even if he had wanted to, though, it was unlikely that his people—his peasants or his band of outlaws—would have let him.

As much as she was certain that Robin did love her, she had never been his only priority.  “Or even his top priority,” she thought bitterly, though she reproached herself afterwards.  There was always someone whose demands on him outweighed hers, whether it was the king or the peasants, and she somehow knew that it would always be that way, even if he was able to return with King Richard from the Holy Land.  There was nothing wrong with that; it was the life she expected.  But what made it so much superior to having a husband who cherished her and wanted to please her, who valued her comfort and happiness more than that of the common people? She supposed it was selfish, but it was undeniably attractive.

She thought back to the few weeks she and Robin had together between her return to Locksley and his return to the Holy Land, and realized with a gasp of surprise how long ago that had been. He had left in August, and it was almost December! In those four months, she had slept, eaten, made plans, and done other mundane things with Guy more than she ever had with Robin.  They were truly married in every sense but consummation. She knew they suited each other, just as Guy had predicted, though it had taken more changes on both their parts than he had likely suspected. For all his flaws, he cared for her, and she discovered more and more, as time went by, that she cared for him too.

Whether Robin would come back in another month, a year, or ever was terribly uncertain.  What was certain was that she would have a baby in four months, or die in the attempt.  After her many frank conversations with Matilda she was well aware of the risks involved.  She might have no problems at all until the birth, and if that went wrong it could kill them both.  But that was the risk every woman took in getting pregnant, whether she wanted to or not.  The more she thought of that, the more pointless it seemed for her to not be with Guy in every sense.  He had forgiven her for lying with Robin while she was married to him; if Robin returned, perhaps he could do the same.

She was sure objections would raise their heads when her mind was clearer, but as she dozed off, she thought of what it would be like to kiss Guy, again and again, to feel his skin against hers, to hold him inside her.


	30. Injury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have rounded the turn! I'm not sure exactly how many chapters are left, but this fic is past the halfway mark.
> 
> For those of you wary of explicit content, the last section, after the third break, is one to skip.

When Guy began spending his nights with Allan again, Marian decided that it was for the best.  It would remove the temptation he posed, and Allan was much less likely to disappoint and frustrate him with a sudden attack of guilt.

But the weather worried her.  The snow had been followed by several freezing days that kept it from melting. Marian was glad she had chosen a thick fabric for one of her winter dresses. The grey and burgundy one was more attractive, but would hardly keep her from shivering on her daily walks. Even with it, she doubted she would walk every day if Guy didn’t insist.  The last time Matilda had visited to discuss the progress of her pregnancy, she had told him to make sure she got enough daily exercise to keep up her strength.  “You may not feel like it, my lady, but if you get lazy in these last months, you’ll wish you hadn’t!” Matilda had insisted that Guy be present when she was giving her advice, and his confused pleasure when the midwife told him that had been a joy to witness. It warmed Marian’s heart to know that Matilda trusted him, and to see how he appreciated that trust.  “I know Marian doesn’t listen to me,” she had said, “but you’re twice her size.  If she doesn’t want to get her exercise, carry her a half mile or so and make her walk back by herself!”

Guy hadn’t needed to use such an extreme tactic yet, and he seemed to be enjoying their walks.  He certainly kept her on track.  When the weather was warmer and she had walked by herself, she would constantly be stopped by farmers’ wives or men on their way to the fields, wanting to pass the time of day.  When she was with Guy, they kept walking with a simple nod at the pair of them.  There had been some improvement, though.  After his four months at Locksley, they no longer fled at the sight of him.

It had stayed that cold for another week, and then the sun came out just enough for the snow to begin to melt. But then one night, it had suddenly started snowing again. The next morning, she was watching from the window when Guy arrived and saw him almost hobbling up to the door. She rushed to meet him.

“Guy what happened?” she cried.

He turned to her, wincing and supporting himself with a hand against the wall.  “It’s nothing, Marian,” he replied.  “I just took a fall from my horse last night.”

“She threw you?” Marian gasped.

Making no reply, Guy started to limp towards his chair by the fire, and Marian rushed to his side, pulling his arm around her shoulders.  Once he was seated, he began.

“She didn’t mean to.  We were going through the woods, and a branch broke.  I suppose it had been weakened by the snow last week and the fresh snow was too much for it.  But it nearly landed on top of us, and she bolted.  I was startled too, and I lost my seat and fell.  But my foot pulled out of the stirrup at an odd angle, and I think I may have twisted my ankle.”

Ignoring Guy’s protests, Marian knelt and took hold of his foot, lifting it to the other chair that she had pulled in front of him. When she tugged at the heel of his boot, he groaned in pain.

“That’s it, I’m sending for Matilda,” she insisted. “You don’t move; I’ll be back in a minute.  She left before he could object, going to the stable to order Luke to go and find her. Her heart pounded with anxiety, not just over what had happened but how much worse it could have been. What if his foot had caught in the stirrup and the horse had dragged him to death? What if he had broken his leg and frozen during the night? And what had Allan thought about it, this man who claimed to take Guy’s interests so much to heart?” She walked back into the house with her mouth set in determination.

“Listen, Guy,” she said upon returning to the fireplace. “I don’t want you going back to Knighton until the snow clears.  It’s too dangerous for you to ride alone at night.  Once Matilda gets here and sees you, I’ll send for Allan.  He can come here if he wants.”

She realized that she must have been speaking brusquely from the sheepish look on Guy’s face.  Feeling a pang of guilt, she waited for him to respond. 

“You can send for him, but I don’t think he’ll come.  I don’t think he’s . . . ready to see you.  Just yet,” he added hurriedly, holding out the hope that might forgive her eventually.

Frankly, she was getting tired of it.  She understood why Allan had been upset, and felt it to be just, but was he going to wait until Robin returned to consider that she might not do as he predicted? She couldn’t stop herself from snapping, “I have to wonder at him letting you ride back in such a state; what was he thinking?”

Guy stared at her for a moment, taken aback by her tone. “He didn’t! He wanted me to stay at Knighton until he could send a doctor, but I told him I wouldn’t stay.  I wanted to ride home, but he insisted on having one of the servants drive me in a cart.  My mare is still at Knighton.  I hope they’re taking care of her; she was quite frightened.”

Marian smiled, Guy’s concern for his horse making her anger with Allan dissipate.  She should’ve known that he would take care of Guy properly, but it had felt good to send some righteous indignation his way for a change. “I’ll ask him to bring her if he comes.  If he won’t, I’ll send Luke over for her tomorrow.”

Matilda arrived only a half hour later, much to Marian’s relief.  She had feared that the midwife would consider a sprained ankle—particularly one belonging to Guy of Gisborne—unworthy of her immediate concern.  She came in with her face red from the cold and immediately barked.  “Well, Gisborne, what have you done to yourself?”

He looked away meekly as he told the story again.  Matilda nodded sternly and turned her attention to his boot.  Once it was off, she took his ankle in her hands, gently feeling it and turning in this way and that.  When he grimaced in pain, Marian reached to take his hand, grateful that Matilda chose not to notice.

“Well, it certainly isn’t broken, Gisborne.  You’d be in tears now if it were.  It will be swollen like this for a couple of days, so try to keep it up like it is now to help with that.  And for heaven’s sake, stay off of it! It may feel like you can walk on it, but don’t!  Just hobble until it’s well. Don’t worry about looking strong for Marian.  It should be as good as new in no time if you just listen.  And how much good will you be to her lame?”

Guy nodded seriously as she spoke.  “Will I be able to ride, though?”

Matilda rolled her eyes to the ceiling.  “What is it with the pair of you and horses? That’s how you did this to yourself in the first place, Gisborne! If there is an emergency, I suppose you’ll have to, but otherwise, please stay on the ground as the Lord ordained, alright?”

As Guy continued to nod stoically, Marian found herself struggling to stifle a giggle.  Matilda always said she owed the good health she enjoyed to her walking everywhere, and she could understand why given the number of horse-related injuries the woman treated.  But to see her take the same tone of affectionate scolding with Guy that she used with her pleased Marian almost to the point of giddiness.  She had been afraid that none of Robin’s friends would ever warm to Guy, but here was proof that it was possible.

* * *

There was still the problem of where he would sleep, though.  As Guy had predicted, Allan rejected her offer of spending the night at Locksley, but sent word back with the servant that he would visit Guy the following day to see how he was, and bring the mare with him. Marian knew it would be best for Guy to sleep downstairs, but she knew the bad memories he had of that bed, and wondered if his good memories with Allan had replaced them.

“Do you mind sleeping downstairs?” she inquired.

He shrugged in response.  “I suppose I have to.  Hard to climb the stairs with one leg.  . . but I don’t know how well I’ll sleep.”

Marian looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before venturing to speak, slowly and with caution. “What if . . . I slept there with you?”

Guy turned to her with an expression of almost alarmed surprise.  Then he smiled sadly, as though suddenly understanding. “That’s alright, Marian.  I have this walking stick Matilda gave me, so I shouldn’t need any help if I . . . get up during the night.  But thank you.”

She frowned at him in response, confused; that wasn’t what she meant.  “No.  I didn’t ask just so I could help you.  I mean, I would! If you needed me, but . . . What I meant, is that I want to sleep with you, again.  Just when you’re here, of course; I know you’ll still want to spend some nights with Allan. But I want to . . . like before.”

Guy knitted his brows, but then his eyes widened in recognition.  “Do you mean before . . . at first? Or before, after Allan left for London?”

Marian felt her heart pounding in her ears already.  “I mean . . . while Allan was gone,” she breathed out shakily.  Guy gaped at her in surprise but made no answer, so she went on.

“I panicked before, and I’m sorry.  When Allan brought that letter all I could think of was that Robin could come home at any moment and I wouldn’t know what to say to him.  But that’s been almost a month ago, and I’ve had time to think.”

He remained silent, but his look of rapt attention encouraged her to go on. “Guy, I waited for five years for Robin to come home from the Holy Land the last time he left.  And then I found that he only came back to me because he was sent to recover from his injuries. And I’m . . . not naïve enough to believe that he was faithful to me all those years.  I’m not going to wait that long for him again.  Not when you’re here.”

She paused, and for several minutes neither of them spoke.  Finally, Guy reached for her hand.  Stroking her fingers gently with his thumb, and without looking at her, he murmured, “Alright.  If you’re sure that’s what you want.  I’ll wait for you in the downstairs bed.”

She got up to leave, but he held onto her for a minute longer.  “Oh, and Marian?”

She looked down at him.

“Make sure you bring the manacles with you.”

* * *

Upstairs, Marian found herself digging through her trunks for a garment she hadn’t even thought about in months.  When she had made it that spring, she counted it one of her greatest failures as a seamstress.  The fine, thin fabric was not one she had worked with before, and the result of her overestimating how much she needed had been a gown that was far too big.  She had intended it to emphasize her curves; instead it had been so loose it had barely stayed in place.  In a fit of anger she had thrown it into her least used trunk; the one that the servants at Knighton had brought only by accident.  She spent so long looking for it that she began to worry that Guy would think she had changed her mind, but at long last she pulled it from the bottom of the trunk with a gasp of triumph. Hastily changing into it, she turned to the mirror and gasped again.

The silky pale blue fabric fit loosely enough around her swollen belly and covered her breasts completely, but did very little in the way of hiding them.  Indeed, it was so thin she worried that the scar on her side might be visible through it, but perhaps that was only the case in the moonlight underscoring the candles in the solar. The candlelight downstairs in the windowless room would reveal less.  Besides, Guy was unlikely to be looking at her side.

She put on her robe quickly, lest she lose her nerve, and searched through the bedside table for the manacles.  For a moment, she was worried she had misplaced them; she would have to find some rope to bind Guy with after all. But then she felt the familiar leather coiled at the back of the drawer, and a smile spread across her face.  Guy would want to touch her so badly, but there would be nothing he could do about it. The thought was enough to make the heat start to pool between her legs.

* * *

Downstairs, Guy was lying in the narrow bed, sweating in spite of the slight chill in the room.  He considered getting undressed, but decided it might be too presumptuous even with Marian’s stated intentions.  Did she want him undressed? How much would she want him to take off if she did? And he was already more than a little embarrassed at how quickly his cock was getting hard, even in her absence.

He had decided, almost as soon as she told him to give her time to think, that she would most likely never touch him again.  It had only been the long absence from Robin, and of Allan’s protective scrutiny, that had brought about that temporary madness. The news Allan brought had no doubt put her back in her right mind.

But then she had amazed him with her confession so much that he was still having trouble believing it.  Was that really a conclusion she would stand by, or would she change her mind again at the slightest hint that Robin was indeed on his way home?

 He worried and wondered all the time that she was gone, but as soon as she entered in her robe and closed the door fast behind her, he found that he didn’t care.  He was going to enjoy whatever she wanted to give him in that moment, with no thought for the future.

“Get undressed, Guy,” she demanded, standing at the foot of the bed.

He pulled off his undershirt, dropping it carelessly on the floor, and began unlacing his trousers.  He was glad that he had kept his boots off after Matilda had removed them. The floor had been cold under his socked feet, but he had no patience for being tender with his swollen ankle now.  When he was clad only in his small clothes, he looked up at Marian for approval.

“Everything, Guy,” she said sternly, her voice already beginning to deepen.

He lifted his hips to draw his waistband down, sliding a hand underneath the material to ease his cock out.  One he had dropped the underwear on top of his clothes, he lay back and looked at Marian again, raising his hands up to the headboard behind him without waiting for her to ask.  That part, at least, was familiar to him.

Marian stepped forward to stand next to the bed, the candlelight from the table illuminating her.  Then she untied her robe and shrugged it from her shoulders, letting it fall on top of Guy’s clothes.

At the sight of her, he let out a soft, involuntary moan and felt his cock grow fully erect.  Her gown was so thin it was almost as though he was seeing her naked. He could make out a small birthmark on her shoulder and see a hint of the contrast in color between her milk white skin and the pink buds of her hardened nipples. As she leaned over him to bind him to the headboard, she brought her breasts so close to his face that he thought he could almost sit up and press his lips to one, if he dared.  He wondered if her nipples were as sensitive as his; would she moan with pleasure if he flicked his tongue over them, or suckled them into his mouth?

Almost as though reading his mind, Marian straddled his thighs and leaned down over him.  He felt the swell of her belly press against his, just above the tip of his cock. She looked up at him, her pupils already growing dark.

“Do you remember what I asked you the first time I touched you, here? When we were upstairs, the day after the Sheriff hit you?”

At that moment, Guy could barely remember who the Sheriff was; he was too concerned with the pounding in his chest and he delicious ache between his legs.  He made no response; she would tell him when she was ready.

Instead of explaining, she lowered her head to his chest and took one of his nipples between her lips.  The touch lasted only for a moment, but it was enough to make him whine and writhe beneath her, pulling against the manacles. She looked up at him with a wicked grin.  “I’m sorry.  You’re right.  I should have asked again.  Do you want me to suck them? I certainly don’t need to.”

Guy continued to pull, thoughtlessly, only dimly aware of the fact that the downstairs headboard was weaker, and he might actually succeed in freeing himself if he pulled hard enough.

“Yes, please,” he panted.

She bent down again, but to press a kiss just above his collarbone.  And then another.  And another, until he was shivering. “Please what, Guy?”

He groaned in frustration.  “Please suck them.”

She put her mouth on his left nipple again, this time tugging it gently between her teeth and then laving the nub with the tip of her tongue.  Meanwhile, her hand drifted to his other nipple and she circled it with her fingertip, close enough to tease, but not quite touching it.

“For God’s sake, Marian! Please!” he begged.  He could barely stand this torture, though he could feel his cock leaking on his stomach with excitement from it. Marian sat back to observe her handiwork, smiling with satisfaction.  Guy wondered if she was as aroused as he was, and it maddened him even further that there was no way for him to find out. After a moment, she shifted a knee between his legs and lay down on top of him again, this time licking over his untouched nipple and sucking it hard.  He moaned loud, feeling his cock throb at the sensation. 

As he concentrated on the pressure of Marian’s body against his, he realized that she was lying on top of him in a way similar to what Allan did when he pleasured him in the same way.  Allan loved to use his mouth on his nipples too, but when he did it, it was always with one of Guy’s hands buried in his hair and the other gripping his ass as he ground his erection against Guy’s thigh.  And a thought suddenly occurred to him.  Marian might not have the same parts, but she could enjoy the friction as well.  And the leg she was straddling was his uninjured one.  Without a second thought, he bent his knee so that his thigh pushed up between hers, lifting her gown and finally pressing against the mound between her legs.

Her reaction was instant.  She lifted her head from his chest, her lust-blown eyes wide with shock and her mouth open. Moving back to kneel over him, she stared down at him until he began to worry.  Had he crossed a line? He attempted to lower his leg, only to have her reach down by her side and grab him underneath his thigh, keeping it in place.  And then she pressed down against him once, twice.  Within a few seconds, her eyes had closed tight and her breathing grew harsher.  Guy could see a faint blush beginning to spread from her neck to between her breasts, and her nipples had grown even harder.  He was almost certain he could feel a patch of dampness where her body pressed against his thigh, but before he could be sure she suddenly climbed off of him and stood next to the bed, clutching at the sides of her skirt 

As he watched helplessly, he felt almost mad with anticipation.  Was she going to lift her gown and take him inside her? Was she going to leave? His cock was so hard it was hurting, and the thought that she might not relieve him at all was pure agony.  He was just about to protest, to plead, to offer her anything she wanted when she pulled her skirt up around her thighs and climbed back into the bed, kneeling between his legs.  And then her hand disappeared beneath the folds of material to cup and stroke her cunt.  Guy’s heart was pounding so hard at the sight that he feared it might burst, and his cock pulsed with each beat.  He didn’t think it had ever been so erect before, and she hadn’t even touched it.  The motion of her hand grew quicker and quicker, and as her back arched and her movements staggered, Guy felt himself growing close to release too.  If she could only last a moment longer . . .

Her mouth opened wide and she shuddered before going limp, collapsing forward on an outstretched palm and panting.  Guy couldn’t stop a mournful whimper from escaping his lips.  Marian lifted her head to give him a small tired smile, still enjoying his torment even in the aftermath of her orgasm.  Then, without a word, she lifted the hand that was still covered with her wetness and wrapped it tight around his cock. With only a handful of strokes, he came with a loud cry, splattering his chest and belly and falling bonelessly back onto the bed.  Through the haze of pleasure, he was dimly aware of her releasing him from the manacles and wiping off his front with material that may have been his undershirt.

What he was almost completely certain of, though, was that she leaned over him once more to press a long, hot kiss to his lips before he drifted off to sleep.


	31. Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some non-explicit sex and discussion of sex in the final section.

The next morning, Guy awakened to find Marian’s back pressed against his chest.  He vaguely remembered rolling over during the night to wrap his arms around her, and being just awake to feel nervous about it.  But she had only pressed back against his warmth without even waking up.

He tried to remember clearly what had happened the night before.  It had been so unexpected, but so incredibly exciting.  Even the memory of Marian kneeling in front of him, eyes scrunched shut in pleasure, was enough to make his cock swell.  He realized with a jolt of embarrassment that he was still naked, and she still in the thin gown she had come down in.  The thought that she might awaken to feel shocked, or regretful, was more than he could bear.  No, he would get out of bed, dress, and leave; let her wake up in her own time, and have whatever reaction she was going to have alone.

But as soon as his feet hit the floor he yelped in shock and pain.  Not only was it freezing against his bare feet, but he had completely forgotten about his twisted ankle.  He turned to see Marian’s eyes flutter open and she peered up at him.

“Guy? What in the world are you doing out of bed? Do you want to hurt your ankle even worse?” Then her eyes widened as her gaze moved downwards.  Guy suddenly felt himself blushing, his self-consciousness mixed with relief that chill of the room had gotten rid of his erection.

Pulling her eyes away, Marian rolled onto her back.  “You’d better get back into bed before you freeze.”

He did as he was told, this time keeping some distance between them.  She nestled her head against the pillow as he watched, starting to feel nervous again.  He so badly wanted to ask about the previous night, and feared he might not be able to find the courage later.

“Marian?”

She glanced back at him over her shoulder. “What?”

“Last night . . . before I fell asleep . . . did you kiss me?”

She rolled onto her back again, sighing at the ceiling.  The she turned to him with a little smile.

“Do you really not remember it? I know you were . . . quite tired, but it seemed rather direct to me.”

Guy looked down at the pillow next to her.  “Yes . . . that’s how I remember it too, but . . . I don’t really trust my memory . . . where you’re concerned.”

Marian frowned, and for a moment her expression was unreadable to Guy. “I suppose I haven’t made it easy for you to do that, have I?” she asked.

He struggled for a moment to think of a reply, but then she reached to cup his face, pulling him down into a slow kiss.

Guy gasped with surprise and she pulled back, smiling at him again and lowering her hand to stroke her thumb over his pulse. He braced himself on both hands, leaning down to kiss her again and again until her hand moved to his shoulder.  He stopped, looking down at her anxiously.

“Come on, Guy.  Lay down with me.”

As he did, she moved closer to him and lay her head on his shoulder, pressing a final quick kiss to his neck before closing her eyes.

Guy smiled up at the ceiling.  He wasn’t in the least bit tired, but he thought he might be content to lie there for the rest of his life.

* * *

Allan made his way to Locksley that evening with some trepidation, which was not helped by the fact that he was riding one horse while leading another.  Guy’s mare seemed to tower over his small stallion, who kept turning to nuzzle at her shoulder or nibble her mane.  She seemed to be tolerating him, but Allan found himself muttering a prayer that, if she was going to bite or kick him, she would wait until his rider was safely on the ground.

He was a bit nervous about seeing Marian too; there was probably no way to miss her completely unless she had decided to avoid Guy for the entire afternoon.  As selfish as he still thought her, that seemed unlikely. Some of his anger had abated over the past month.  It was obvious that Robin was not in a hurry to get home, or that he had faced some unexpected delay.  The longer Robin was gone, the more affection Marian seemed to show Guy, and her refusal to let him return to Knighton the previous night supported that point.  One the one hand, it meant that he would be all the more devastated if she did decide to pretend that nothing had happened between them, but surely it also meant that she was less likely to do that.  He would just have to wait and see how she behaved when he arrived; it was possible that she was still angry with him!

Allan delivered the two horses to the stable, biting his lip anxiously as Luke scrutinized the mare.  He was not originally from Locksley; he had come from the castle with Guy, and had been taking care of his horses since he became Master at Arms.  Guy liked his quick obedience and gentle way with the animals, and the stable boy loved the mare almost as much as his master did.

“Did she eat last night?” the young man asked

Allan nodded. He wasn’t certain; he hadn’t seen it personally, but he was sure the stable boy at Knighton had done his best.

“What did she eat?”

“Horse food,” Allan was tempted to say, but the serious look on Luke’s face forbad it.

“I don’t know . . . grain? Corn?”

Luke frowned, clearly unimpressed with this answer.  “I’ll make her a hot oat mash, sir. That’s good for horses when it’s cold outside.”

“I’ll remember that next time,” Allan murmured, and left before the stable boy could make any more demands of him.

Upon entering the house, he immediately made his way to the downstairs bedroom.  As he expected, Guy was lying in bed with his injured ankle atop a pile of pillows. Opening the door further, he saw Marian sitting on the side of the bed.

“Oh,” he gasped.  “Hello . . . Marian.  I’m here to see Guy.” He cringed as soon as the words had passed his lips.  What other reason could he possibly have for being there?

“Of course,” she said with a nervous smile.  “I’ll leave you to yourselves.” Then she turned to Guy.  “I’ll just be in the kitchen with Edith if you need anything.”

She was almost in the hall before Allan spoke up.  “Oh, Marian?”

Stopping, she turned around to look at him, almost shyly.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better.  I was worried when I heard you were ill.”

The smile she gave him was warmer than he expected.  “It was nothing, Allan, really.  I was just worried because of the baby.  But thank you for your concern.”

There was an awkward pause as Marian waited, but Allan spoke no more, too worried that further words would shatter the peace between them.  Eventually, Marian took the hint and left.

Allan turned to look at Guy, who was grinning up at him.

“See, Allan? It’s not that hard for the two of you to get along.”

“No, not for two seconds it isn’t,” he replied, leaning down to press a kiss to Guy’s lips.  He could feel that he was not smiling anymore.

“I would appreciate it if you would try, Allan,” he said with some irritation.

He made no reply. Sitting down on the bed, he turned his attention to Guy’s ankle, placing a hand on it gingerly.

“It looks like the swelling has gone down a lot since you left me yesterday morning.”

“Yes,” Guy said in better humor.  “I’ve been lying here almost since Matilda visited.”

“Was she nice to you?”

Guy’s brow furrowed in confusion.  “As nice as could be expected, I suppose.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything, Giz,” Allan said with a roll of his eyes.  “I don’t know if I expect her to poison you out of loyalty to Robin or if she’s actually starting to like you.”

“I think . . . she likes me more than she used to,” Guy muttered, a bit uncertainly.

Allan laughed.  “Well, that’s good! You can’t have a better ally when Robin returns.  I think he’d probably believe Matilda over Marian!”

“You said ‘when’ he returns.  What makes you so certain?” Guy asked, frowning.

Allan leaned forward to grip his shoulder, giving him a bitter smile.  “I know that’s not what you want to hear, Giz.  But I know from experience that if there’s anything Robin is better at than outsmarting the Sheriff and you, no offense, it’s showing up when he’s least expected and least wanted.”

Guy made no reply except to look even more nervous.  Allan felt a pang of remorse.  His lover would have plenty to worry about when Robin did arrive, but there was no sense in making him worry beforehand.

A few moments later, Guy changed the subject.  “How is work progressing on the tunnel? Has the Sheriff killed anyone yet?”

Allan gave him a nervous smile as he blanched inwardly.  If there were any topic guaranteed to upset Guy even more than Robin Hood’s imminent return, it was this one.  But he had long felt he needed to talk to someone about that, and it was certainly relevant to Guy’s interests.”

“It’s . . . it’s been difficult, actually.  Since I convinced him that it wouldn’t be a good idea for production for him to work his laborers to death, the Sheriff has been getting bored.  And I think Vincenzo is getting bored with him as well.  Every time I talk to him, he threatens to leave.  I’ve had to promise more money than the Sheriff has to get him to stay, and I think he knows it.  The tunnel itself isn’t the problem; it’s the traps inside it.  He has to be there to put those in, and that can’t happen until then tunnel is complete.”

Guy’s eyes widened, and Allan immediately regretted this speech.  He often asked about how things were going at the castle, but Allan found that he was never fully prepared for an honest answer.  He had spent too many years believing that his master had to be obeyed no matter what, and was still suspicious of any attempt to foil him, even now.

But Allan had committed to answering, so he went on.  “That’s not the worst of it though.”

Guy went pale, and Allan hoped he wouldn’t ask for more, though knowing it to be unlikely.

“Well?”

He sighed and waited a moment before beginning to speak.  “The Sheriff has become . . . impatient . . . for what he asked me to do before I accepted this job.”

“Oh . . . you mean killing me?”

Allan nodded sadly.  “And I’m not sure what to tell him, Giz.  He knows that you spend nights with me, and he keeps telling me how easy it would be to . . . murder you in your sleep.”

“He would,” Guy said with a grimace.

“And I don’t know what to tell him! That’s what I’m worried about.  How much longer will his trust in me last?”

The longer Guy remained silent, the more worried Allan became. What discouragingly hopeless thing was he going to say this time?

“You know what you should do . . .” Guy began

Allan listened with rapt attention. He had no idea what Guy was going to say, but it was already better than he expected.

“You should talk to Marian.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Allan replied, “Marian? That’s unexpected! What for?”

Guy considered for a moment.  “Because . . . I don’t know to work around the Sheriff, Allan.  If I did, do you think I would’ve worked under him for over ten years? That’s a decade of him making promises to me and almost never keeping them! But Marian . . . she has always thought the Sheriff could be defeated, even if she thought she needed . . . she thought she couldn’t do it by herself.  She’s the one who can help you, not me.  Stay for dinner tonight.”

Allan looked away, deep in thought. He had promised himself that he would just make sure Guy was alright and leave, but he made such a good case for putting aside his differences with Marian.  Perhaps it would be worthwhile, even if it only pleased Guy.

“Alright then.”

* * *

They stayed in Guy’s room until Ruth came to tell them that dinner was ready to be served.  Allan let Guy wrap an arm around his shoulders as he helped him walk to the dining room and eased him into his usual spot across from Marian. It wasn’t until he sat down next to him that he began to feel the tension in the room.  Marian was watching Allan, waiting for him to make conversation, and he realized suddenly, and with some embarrassment, that he was doing the same.

“Did my mare have a good night in your stable, Allan?” Guy asked unexpectedly.

Allan was so surprised that he turned to stare at his lover for a moment before replying.

“I . . . um . . .?”

Guy took another bite of his soup in an attempt to hide his smile at Allan’s flustered reaction.

“Did she seem nervous this morning? I hear that it snowed more last night; was she shivering? She has thin skin, you know.”

Allan pressed his lips into a thin line.  “Don’t worry, Giz. I took very good care of your daughter.  I made sure she had her blanket.  I tucked her in.  I told her a bedtime story.”

He looked up to see Marian glancing back and forth between them with amusement.  Feeling a bit braver, Allan asked, “Did Giz ever tell you how he got her?”

Almost immediately, he regretted it.  The mare had been one of several horses the Sheriff had requisitioned from an injured breeder who had been unable to pay his taxes.  If she hadn’t heard it, forcing Guy to tell a story she would disapprove of was not a good way to break the ice.

She scoffed with indignation. “Yes! And I still can’t believe the Sheriff wanted to butcher all the mares for dogs’ meat.  He thinks he’s so clever; doesn’t he know where new horses come from?”

“Well, I did what I could to save the others,” Guy jumped in.  “I was only able to succeed with her because she was clearly the best horse of the bunch.  I bored the Sheriff by explaining why until he relented, and told me I could have her.”

“I do the same thing myself,” Allan piped in.  “He starts walking away from me at the mention of the words ‘labor force’ now.”

Guy turned to him, his expression suddenly serious.  “Speaking of the Sheriff . . .”

“Oh, God,” Allan groaned inwardly. “Here it comes.”

“Isn’t there something you wanted to ask Marian about?”

Allan glanced up at Marian, who was clearly bewildered: her eyes wide, her mouth slightly open.  “Ask me . . . what?”

Allan sighed.  He had wanted to bring it up casually, to ease her into it, but Guy had made anything other than brutal bluntness impossible.

“The Sheriff wants me to kill Guy sooner rather than later. And I don’t know what to do, and clearly Guy doesn’t know what to do.” He made what he hoped was a subtle turn in Guy’s direction and gave him a not so subtle glare.

“Do you have any ideas?” he asked. “I just . . . need an excuse, so I need someone who is a good liar.”

“Allan,” Guy snapped in warning.

“It’s alright, Guy,” she said, raising her hand to silence him.  “He’s right.  I am a good liar. I’m the best liar; you of all people should know that.  And that’s clearly what’s needed here.”

He looked away and said no more.  Marian considered for long moments before finally saying.  “I think you have to tell him you’ll do it.”

Allan gasped.  “What?”

She looked at him pointedly.  “You have to set a specific time for doing it, and hope that time never comes. Do you remember when I agreed to marry Guy?”

Allan nodded, looking at Guy to see that he was hanging on her every word too.

“I told him, in a moment of bitterness, that I would marry him when the king returned.  At the time, I felt hopeless.  I felt like the king would never come back, but I also knew that if he did, Guy and the other black knights would be imprisoned.”

She looked at Guy.  “You know my feelings have changed since then; don’t you?”

Allan turned to see Guy give a tiny nod and a quick smile.

She went on.  “But, it worked because I was specific.  Now, you have to tell the Sheriff that you’ll kill Guy once this plan to stop the king from taking the castle succeeds.  Perhaps that will refocus his attention on the distraction you’ve already created.  It will certainly buy you some time.”

Allan nodded.  If it worked as well on the Sheriff as it had on Guy, it was an excellent plan.  One thing was still bothering him, though.

“You said that the king would imprison the black knights when he returned.  He may actually be about to return now, and Guy is still a black knight.  What do you think that will mean?”

She gave a sad shrug.  “I don’t know what the king will do when he gets here, Allan.  If he gets here.” Then she paused, as though certain of what she wanted to say, but not so sure it was worth saying.  After a moment, she decided.  “Just like you don’t know what I’ll do if Robin comes back.”

Allan sighed, almost relieved that she had been the one to bring that up. “You’re right, Marian.  I don’t know.  I still think it’s entirely possible that you’ll pretend nothing happened between you and Guy.  But, it’s also possible that you won’t.  I . . . I’ve decided to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

She smiled at him.  “I’m glad to hear that.  I hope this means I’ll get to see more of you now.  Will you be . . . would you like to spend the night?”

He looked sheepishly up at Guy, who gave another small nod.

“Yes, I’m staying,” he told Marian with a grin.

* * *

As soon as Allan climbed into bed with him and blew out the candle, Guy pulled him into a long kiss.

“Whoa, Giz! Hold on. Don’t you need to recover?”

Guy pressed another kiss to the side of his neck.  “Recover from what?”

“Your ankle feels that much better, huh? Even after I had to carry you to dinner?”

Chuckling softly at the exaggeration.  “Well, I probably shouldn’t do anything too strenuous.  But Matilda only forbade me from walking and riding. There are other things I can do.”

He pressed closer to Allan, moving against him to let him feel what one of those things was. Allan felt his own cock twitch with excitement.

“Besides, I’m pleased with you.”

Allan frowned in the darkness.  Was this about Marian? Why was Guy having this particular reaction to their dinner conversation? He rolled onto his side, facing him. 

“Pleased with me for what?”

Guy must have sensed some uneasiness in his tone, for when he spoke again it was with some timidity.  “For making up with her.  I . . . want you to get along.”

“Why?”

He received no answer for a moment, and was just about to reach for Guy and return his attention to something besides talking when Guy murmured, “Because I care for both of you so much.”

Allan lifted his hand from Guy’s belly to cup his face.  “What is happening between the two of you now?”

He felt the sigh more than he heard it.  “She slept here with me last night,” he answered softly.

“Did you fuck her?”

“No.”

“Are you . . . unhappy about that?”

Guy shifted uneasily next to him.  “I . . . I’m not sure.  I want to . . . I mean, of course I want to.  But not if she’s going to regret it . . .  I’d rather not than have that.”

Allan smiled and stretched up to kiss Guy again.  He could abide the thought of Marian giving Guy the pleasure he had so long sought from her; that wasn’t the worst thing that could happen.

“She might not, though.  Tomorrow, it might be the thing she wants most in the world.  Just . . . if that happens, don’t be afraid to tell me, alright? I won’t be angry with you. Or her.  Not until Robin gets back, anyway.”

Guy opened his mouth, probably to protest Allan’s being angry with Marian ever, for any reason, but he silenced him with a kiss before pressing him onto his back and climbing onto his waist.

“Alright, Guy.  Now what reward did you have in mind for me?”

 


	32. The Scar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some non-explicit discussion of sex in the first section.
> 
> Also, I've seen a David Bamber a lot more in the 1995 Pride and Prejudice than as Physician Blight in his single episode of Robin Hood. So if he speaks and behaves more like Dr. Mr. Collins, that would be why!

When Guy had stabbed her on that night she had robbed him shortly before their wedding, she never would have dreamed that the scar it left would become such a nuisance. Certainly not in this way.  When she looked down at her belly, now rounded with six months of pregnancy, she tried to imagine the time when it had been perfectly flat and flawless.  Now, it was covered with pink lines around the sides, which Matilda told her would fade in time after the child was born, but never disappear completely.  “There are some things that you can never get back once you’re a mother, my lady,” she had said, “but it’s a small price to pay.” She wasn’t so sure that was true of the other mark on her side, which had also faded with time but would remain for the rest of her life.  It stood out in stark contrast to the stretch marks, running in a different direction and lighter in color, but still very visible.  If Guy saw it, it might not take him long to figure out from whence it came.

It was a nuisance because she was feeling less and less comfortable hiding anything from him.  Over the past months, they had become closer than she ever would have thought possible when she had been compelled to marry him a year and a half ago. The physicality of their relationship had changed too.  While she had put off allowing him to pleasure her as long as she could to preserve a semblance of fidelity to Robin, her desire to be closer to him had finally proven too much to bear.  One night, having fought against her restlessness long after she satisfied him, she had awakened him and guided his hand between her legs.  The first time had been rushed and rough, since he was half asleep, but he had still managed to bring her to orgasm more quickly than she expected, no doubt from having denied herself for so long.

And yet he had not been satisfied with his performance.  The next night, Allan had decided to stay at Knighton again due to the snow that had been falling regularly since the New Year began.  She and Guy had been kissing underneath the covers in the upstairs bed when he suddenly pulled back to ask, “Will you let me try something different tonight? It’s . . . gentler than what we did before.  And I think you’ll like it.”

She nodded, a bit uncertainly.  They had already decided to hold off on intercourse until after the baby was born.  Not only was she still considering the possibility that Robin might return, still expecting an annulment, but she didn’t think it would be possible to find a comfortable position at her current size.

“Were you still doing that with Annie when she was as pregnant as I am?” Marian had asked when the subject first came up.

He had looked away, fidgeting as he always did when Marian brought up the mother of his son.  “I think so,” he murmured.  “But . . . it wasn’t our first time.” He was silent for a moment, and then his blush darkened.  “Obviously.”

Marian couldn’t resist snickering at his inadvertent humor.  “Then you see what I mean? I don’t want anything to be in the way of my enjoying our first time.”

She wasn’t sure how much comfort he had gotten from her explanation, but he had respected her decision enough not to bring it up again.

At first, Marian had no idea what Guy meant by “something different,” but then when he lifted the covers at the foot of the bed, she gasped in realization.  He raised the furs and sheets higher and higher until there was enough space for him to lie down between her legs.  She lifted the covers around her shoulders, compensating for the sudden chill on her lower half.  It did not last once he began kissing up the inside of her thigh, finally pressing his lips against her labia.

She had come undone within a few minutes from his tongue alone.  It was completely different from anything she had ever felt.  Robin had kissed her there before, but always only as a prelude to being inside her.

“I had no idea I could . . . finish.  Just from that,” she confessed to Guy shyly as he stood and covered her legs again.

He gaped at her for a moment in disbelief, and then his eyes narrowed.  He didn’t say a word to her but made his way to the water picture and bowl beside the bed.  As he splashed water on his face and underneath his arms, she heard him mutter, “fucking Englishmen” and “what did he think he was playing at?”

She couldn’t contain her curiosity.  “What’s your problem, darling?” she asked with a mischievous grin.

He looked at her with an embarrassed little smirk.  “It’s nothing, I . . . I’ve just always found it peculiar that some Englishmen are so particular about what they put in their mouths in the bedroom, and yet so very unparticular at the dinner table.”

Marian scoffed in mock indignation.  “But . . . you’re English yourself, Guy!”

“Well, my father was, but my mother was French, and we had only French kitchen servants when I was growing up.  And then of course I . . . lived in France for a while after Isabella and I . . . left.”

She now knew enough of Guy’s past to sense that the talk was moving in a dangerous direction.  Deciding to ask no more questions, she took hold of Guy’s hand and pulled him down next to her, drawing the covers over him.

* * *

As much as she enjoyed the new intimacy between them, it had only made her more self-conscious about her scar. So far, she had been insisting on keeping her upper half covered, claiming that she was self-conscious about the size of her stomach.  Guy had not questioned that, and at another time she would have been willing to let it go.  But now, the thought of lying to him, especially about something that mattered so little to her now, was a hateful feeling. She dreaded the night when he would look up at her from between her thighs with that happy smirk she had grown to love and see her scar.  And know that he was responsible for it.  It was time to put her past conflict with Guy behind them, but first she had to bring it all into the light.

That evening at dinner, she caught Allan off guard by asking him if he wouldn’t mind sending a doctor from Nottingham to check in on her.  She had been having a pain in her side, and wanted to see if he would be willing to prescribe something for her.

He blinked in confusion.  “I suppose so . . . but, surely Marian, Matilda . . .”

“Oh, it’s not serious to bother her with! She told me she has two babies to deliver this week.  She’ll be exhausted, the poor thing. I just need some . . . tonic, and I’ll be fine.”

Allan quirked an eyebrow suspiciously, and Marian found herself wishing for the first time that Guy still went into Nottingham regularly. It was not in his nature to question orders unless they would have obviously disastrous ramifications, let alone simple requests.  But Allan was more suspicious and clever.  He knew that if it were really nothing serious, Marian would just put up with it, or she would . . .

“Why don’t you just go to an apothecary and tell him what the matter is?”

Marian smiled bitterly.  It was almost as though he had read her mind.

“Come on, Allan.  Just do it . . . please?” came Guy’s deep voice next to him.

Allan gave a shrug and nodded at Marian, as if humoring her silliness.

She turned to Guy with a smile, grateful for his dependable obedience.

* * *

When the doctor arrived the next afternoon, though, smiling was the furthest thing from her mind.  Matilda had told her of the incompetent Physician Blight, who had been the personal physician to the Sheriff for some years before falling out of favor when he failed to restore Prince John’s messenger to consciousness a year before.  Marian felt her heart sink when Ruth made the announcement to her, and even Ruth seemed loathe to make it.  But Guy had been almost pacing the floor in anxiety since she told him that she was in pain, and was so relieved to see him that he was almost courteous as he invited him into the bedroom.

“Please, come in, physician . . . it’s . . . good to see you again.” The timid tone of his voice made her doubtful as to how good it really was, but she was pleased to see him trying.

“Well, Sir Guy of Gisborne!” the small man said slyly. “I know some people who will be relieved to hear that you’re still alive; it’s been so long since you were seen in Nottingham! But I suppose both of us know what it’s like to face the Sheriff’s wrath.”

Marian flushed with anger, wanting to remind him that most people who faced the Sheriff’s wrath had died in agony, but she held her tongue so that all that came out was an aborted little screech.

Blight stared at her in annoyance for a moment before turning back to Guy.  “I understand from our new Master at Arms that your wife is having a pain in her side.  Is that correct?”

Guy raised an eyebrow at him, glowering before looking at Marian, pointedly refusing to answer.

“Yes, that’s right,” she blurted, taking the hint.

It took Blight a moment to recognize that he would be dealing directly with her, and he grumbled as he made his way to the bedside.

“Alright, my lady.  Lie down here and let’s get a look at the site of the ailment.  Sir Guy, if you don’t mind waiting . . .”

“Actually,” Marian piped up, “I would prefer if my husband stayed for the examination.  I hope you don’t mind.”

Blight’s eyes narrowed in confusion, as though he didn’t understand the point of the wife continuing to speak even while meaning for the husband to say in the room.  Marian hoped he didn’t have too many female patients.

“I . . . suppose if you wish it, my lady.  Then he looked up at Guy, insinuatingly.  “I suppose we must allow them these little fancies, mustn’t we.”

If it made her fanciful to want someone she trusted present while a strange man looked at and prodded her bare skin, Marian was glad to plead guilty.  She knew that this would be worst part of her idea, but if she could just get through it, it would pay off.

She took in the fury simmering behind her husband’s eyes with some enjoyment.  It had been such a long time since Guy had lost his temper, and she was proud of him.  But if he chose to take a step back in his progress for this impertinent little man, she could not find it in herself to complain.

As soon as she had bared her stomach, Blight gasped.

“Dear heavens, my lady! What has happened to you? What are all these hideous marks!”

Disgust was written all over Blight’s face, but Marian was more interested in Guy, who looked like he might faint.  His mouth was open in shock and the color had drained from his complexion.  She suddenly remembered that it was his first time seeing her bare stomach, and she softened her reply from the tart one she had intended.

“Those are just stretch marks; I’m six months pregnant.  They are there because my skin is distressed from my stomach growing so fast.  They’re nothing to worry about,” she said, repeating almost verbatim what Matilda had told her. She sighed inwardly with relief seeing Guy’s face relax at her words.

“Well, they’re certainly unsightly,” Blight informed her.

“You’re not here to insult my wife,” Guy snapped, turning to Blight menacingly. “You’re here to make her stop hurting.”

The physician looked back and forth between them for a moment as though uncertain how to react.  Then he spoke to Marian, more timidly. “Which side is giving you problems?”

She pointed to her scarred side.  It hadn’t pained her except on bad weather days since it healed, but it was an unpleasant sight for those not used to seeing it.  Even Robin had avoided touching it.

Blight scowled down at her.  “Well, it’s obvious why it’s hurting, my lady.  You look like you’ve been half-butchered! What happened?”

“Well, it hasn’t happened recently, she pointed out, but she noticed that Guy didn’t seem relieved by that.  His lips were pressed tightly together and his eyes were still wide in shock.  She took a deep breath.  It was best to just get it over with.

“I was stabbed, well over a year ago, with a knife about four inches long and curved.  A physician . . . a competent one . . . repaired the internal damage, but I almost died.”

Blight was merely miffed at the implication of her words, but Guy looked positively horrified.  “How did I not know about this? That was around the time of our marriage, Marian! Why didn’t you tell me?” he cried.

She simply looked at him, not knowing what to say.  This had all gone horribly wrong.  The plan had been for the physician to look at her scar, explain to Guy that it was old, long healed, and clearly not causing any problems with her pregnancy.  That was exactly what Matilda had said to reassure her, but she knew Matilda wouldn’t let Guy stay in the room while she examined her. And she needed him to see it, with assurances from an expert.  It was the only way she could imagine him believing he had done her no irreparable harm.  But she had stupidly assumed that there was an acceptable physician in Nottinghamshire besides Matilda.

She could see the exact moment when Guy realized the meaning behind her silence.  He gave a pained gasp as though he had been kicked in the stomach, and lifted a hand to cover his mouth.  “Oh God,” he groaned.  “Oh God . . . I . . .”

“Guy,” she said, and then again more sharply when he failed to respond.  When he looked at her she could see the tears beginning to form in his eyes.

“Listen to me, darling,” she said softly.  “I want you to go downstairs by the fireplace and wait for me while I get ri . . . while Physician Blight finishes his examination.  Then I’ll come and explain, I promise.”

For a moment, she feared Guy wouldn’t move at all.  He looked almost dazed.  But when she said his name once more, he turned and left slowly, still overwhelmed, without looking at her again.

* * *

It took Marian longer than she expected to get the physician to leave.  She had put an end to the examination as soon as Guy had left, smoothing her clothes back into place and immediately walked to the bedroom chest, the very one she had helped herself to on the night Guy had stabbed her, to get his fee.  It was only when she finally agreed to having a bottle of his special tonic sent to Locksley that he left.

She made her way downstairs as slowly as possible, trying to give herself time to think of what she would say to Guy.  Nothing seemed sufficient.  By the time she arrived at the fireplace table, she was resigned to hoping that he would do most of the talking.

When he looked up, she could see from his red-rimmed eyes that he had been crying already.  But when he spoke, the feeling in his voice was ice cold.

“You were the Night Watchman . . . the whole time?”

She nodded, looking back at him, trying without success to read his expression.  After a few moments, she found she could bear the silence no longer.

“Is it really such a surprise, Guy? You know that I’ve been with Robin, that I’d been helping him long before that.  Is it that you doubt my skill as a fighter?”

“I would hardly doubt your skill at anything,” he snapped.  “Who knows what other hidden talents you have? After this I should think there’s nothing of which you are incapable.  Why should I assume you have any limitations? Are you even . . . are you even in pain?”

Marian sighed deeply and closed her eyes.  She didn’t think this day could get any worse, but it just had.  “No,” she said flatly.  “That was a lie too”

Guy leaned forward, burying his face in his hands and gave a great sob.

Marian collapsed into the other chair, almost shaking with helpless anxiety.  She didn’t know if Guy was relieved that she was alright, or was that lie on top of all the others too much to bear?

As she continued to watch him, bent forward, his shoulders shaking, she pushed herself to say something comforting.

“Listen, Guy.  I understand why you’re angry with me . . .”

He lifted his tear streaked face to her.  “I’m not angry with you,” he murmured softly, his voice thick with emotion.  “I just . . . I’ll never be able to be closer to you now.  I almost killed you! How can you ever forgive me?” Burying his face again, he shook even more violently.  Struggling to get up, Marian walked to him, placing her hands on his shoulders.

“Listen,” she pleaded.  “Guy, you had no idea who I was! You would have stabbed anyone who broke into your house and tried to rob you? If you didn’t suspect it was me any of the other times, why would you then.” She suddenly realized that reminding him of all their encounters was probably not the best way to comfort him.  “Of course I forgive you, Guy.”

He still wasn’t looking at her, but at least he had stopped crying.  She suddenly felt exhausted from the day’s events, her entire body so tired and heavy that she didn’t think she could drag it back up the stairs.  Maybe Guy wouldn’t mind if she napped in his bed.

She was just about to move in that direction when he spoke, listlessly, but no longer with tears. “It’s not that simple, Marian.  You can’t just tell me I’m forgiven and leave it at that.  I need . . . I need some time to think.”

Turning to face him, she said, “I understand.  You’ve been patient with me; I won’t rush you.”

“Why, Marian?”

She knew he wasn’t asking about patience.  “Why did I lie about my side?”

He nodded.

She sat down again, too weary to give that explanation on her feet. “It’s because I wanted you to see the scar, but I also wanted someone knowledgeable to tell you that it’s not hurting me now.  It is . . . a little sore sometimes, but it’s not having any ill effect on the baby. Matilda told me that, but she . . . wouldn’t have worked for my purposes.  But it was all a disaster, and I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I couldn’t control your finding out as much as I would have liked to.  But . . . Guy, look at me.”

He had started to bow his head again, though it seemed more in tiredness than emotion. She wondered if he was as worn out as herself.  But then his eyes met hers, and she reached down and took his hand.

“I promise you that I will never lie to you again.  You may wish that I would at some point, but . . . I don’t want to cause you distress, and that’s all my lies seem to do.  So I won’t, no matter how convenient it may seem.  Do you understand?”

Guy nodded, and gave her a little smile.  He squeezed her hand gently.

“Good. Now I’m going to go and lie down in the bed down here, and I expect to fall asleep immediately. You may come along when you’re ready, if you want to.”


	33. Explanations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is a little misleading. There's not a lot of talking here; "explanations" is almost a euphemism. 
> 
> There are no section breaks, but the explicit content will begin at the end of the dialogue.

Guy never did come to bed.  He slept upstairs alone that night, and she did not awaken in his bed until early the next morning. But when he announced that he was going to sleep alone again, downstairs, the next night, she decided that enough was enough. He had already studiously avoided talking to her all that day.

“Will you come and sit on the bed, Guy?” she asked gently when he came up to get a fresh set of night clothes. “I want to talk to you.”

He eyed her warily, but did as he was told.  That he chose to sit out of arms’ reach did not escape her notice.  She frowned, and took a moment to compose herself before asking, “Are you angry with me?”

The question seemed to surprise him; he raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “Why would I be angry with you?”

She narrowed her eyes slightly, wondering if he was being facetious.  Deciding he was genuinely perplexed, she went on.

“Well, you don’t want to sleep with me. You’ve barely talked to me today.  What am I to think?”

Guy sighed and looked down at his lap.  She waited his answer, trying to calm the butterflies in her stomach. What if, after all the lies they had told each other, this innocent one was the one that proved to be just too much, the one they could never get past?

“I’m not angry with you, I just . . . I still don’t understand why this is such a small matter to you.  I almost killed you!  If it weren’t for . . . this competent physician, whoever he was, you would be gone.  Just vanished.  How would I . . . ?” He paused, and for a moment Marian was afraid he was going to cry again. He took a shaky breath. “How would I know what had happened to you?”

Marian moved towards him to put a hand on his shoulder, but he shrank away from her.

“Guy, I . . . I don’t know what to say.” She sighed helplessly.  “I didn’t realize, you would be so upset. I just wanted to get everything out in the open between us.”

He gave her a grim smile.  “By telling another lie?”

Marian shrugged.  “That’s a fair point.  I suppose it wasn’t one of my more effective plans.  But at least you found out the truth quickly.”

That drew a more genuine smile from him. “Well, you told me the truth quickly.  If you hadn’t, that insufferable man might still be here.”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled in agreement, glad the storm appeared to have passed. “How did that idiot ever get to be the Sheriff’s physician?”

“Well, unfortunately, the Sheriff has never been sick a day in his life.  He must have had some other talent that he needed more.”

Marian nodded in agreement.  “By the way,” she added, “it wasn’t a ‘he.’”

Guy’s brows knitted in confusion.  “Who?”

“The physician who healed me.  It was one of Robin’s gang, the Saracen woman.  Djaq is her name.”

He raised his eyebrows, surprised.  “Really? I suppose this means I have to forgive her for throwing black pepper in my eyes, doesn’t it?”

Marian laughed softly.  “Yes, darling.  I suppose it does.”

When he smiled again, she decided to take advantage of the shift in his mood. “I’m sorry I hid it from you, Guy,” she offered pleadingly, reaching to touch him again and exhaling with relief when he let her. She wrapped an arm around his waist and nestled against his shoulder.  Being so close to him after such a tense day apart made her skin tingle with pleasure. He took a deep, contented breath and lay his head against hers, letting her hold him in silence for a moment before asking, “Why did you?”

Marian smiled slowly; this was the question she had been waiting for.

“I wanted us to be closer, and I can’t have that if I . . . hide things from you.  But I can answer that question better if you’ll get undressed.”

Guy pulled away from her just enough to turn and give her a searching look.  Despite his confusion, he lifted the hem of his shirt and raised his arms to pull it over his head.  Following a pleased nod from her, he stood up and pulled his pants down, stepping out of them.  Fully naked, he had just sat down on the bed again taken his usual position lying in the center when Marian surprised him by standing up herself, grasping the folds of her nightgown around her hips, and raising it. She struggled with the material around her swollen breasts for a moment, considering asking for help, but finally managed to remove it completely and drop it on top of Guy’s night clothes on the floor. When she looked at him, she saw immediately that he would’ve likely been unable to help her if she had asked.  His mouth was wide open with shock and his pupils already dilated at the sight of her. She looked down at herself for a moment.  Her hardened nipples were far darker than they used to be, and while her breasts were fuller, they were also marked all over with bright blue veins. And then there was her stomach, of course, so round that it blocked her view of the floor. Surely not a body to ignite desire, she thought.

Before she could give voice to these thoughts, though, Guy drew in a ragged breath and said, “Marian . . . you are . . . so beautiful. Can I . . .? Can I touch you?”

His words sent a tremor of excitement through her, and all she could do was nod. He sat up and took her by the hand, drawing her towards him, turning to face her as she sat down on the bed.  When he placed a hand on her hip and kept it there, she felt with amazement that he was trembling.  As he continued to look her over in awe as though unsure where he wanted to touch first, she raised her hands to his neck and pulled him down for a kiss.  It began chastely, but they were both too eager for that to last. She nipped at his lower lip and flicked her tongue out to soothe it.  Guy opened his mouth wider, encouraging her to kiss him more deeply and wrapped his arms around her, bringing her flush against him.  She gasped when her sensitive breasts pressed against hard planes of his chest, and he immediately released her and looked down at them with concern.

“Do they . . . are they still sore?”

She thought for a minute about how he would have known to ask, but quickly decided that it didn’t matter. She shook her head and leaned in to kiss him again.  A few seconds later he pulled away to kiss down her neck, lingering over her pulse, which pounding so hard she felt herself shaking with it.  Then he dipped his head down to flick the tip of his tongue over her nipple, sending a burst of pleasure down her spine.  She gasped again and tightened her grip on his shoulder.  He looked up at her for approval before bending again and kissing it, smiling at the jolt she gave.  When he took her nipple between his lips, gently suckling it, she gave a shuddering little cry and lifted her hand to tangle in his hair, holding him in place.  He raised his hand to lightly cover her other breast and brushed the pad of his thumb over the nipple.  She closed her eyes tight and arched her back at the dual sensation of both being pleasured in such different ways, amazed and a little embarrassed that such light, delicate touches were undoing her so easily.  Through the fog of pleasure, she wondered if this was how Guy felt when she played with him. She was growing so wet and swollen between her legs at his ministrations that she felt the might well lose her mind if he didn’t touch her there soon. Perhaps if she touched him it would speed things along.

But when she reached between his legs, he gripped her wrist to stop her.  “No, I . . . I can’t have you touch me now.  We’ll take care of me later.”

She nodded, but when he released her hand she gripped his in turn and pulled it between her legs.  As his long fingers covered her labia he leaned down again to wrap his lips around the nipple he had been stroking.  He moaned, sending vibrations through her core and making her nipple even harder.  She felt her whole body jerk at the sensation and spread her legs as far as she could given their position.  When his fingers slipped inside the slickness of her folds, she gasped again and bucked against his hand, trying to draw him deeper. He lifted his face to press another kiss against his her neck and then her ear.  “Patience, darling,” he whispered.

Then he covered her shoulder with his hand, gently pressing until she was lying back on the pillows at the head of the bed.  He got up to kneel between her legs and reached down to slip a finger, already slick with her wetness, inside her.  When she sighed and spread her legs further, he added another finger and brought his thumb up to brush once against her swollen clit.  She gave a soft cry and shuddered as pleasure surged through her body, leaving her skin hot, and thrust against his hand trying to get more friction. He pushed his fingers the rest of the way inside her and stroked over her clit again and again until her mouth opened wide and her eyes were scrunched shut with bliss.  When he cupped a breast in his other hand and rolled her peaked, still wet nipple between his thumb and forefinger, she threw her head back and clenched around his fingers as the tension building within her broke into spasms of pleasure.

Guy sat back to look at her, giving her a chance to stop shaking. “Stop,” she called to him when he reached for his cock. He looked at her questioningly.

“You said ‘we’ would take care of you . . . later.” And she glanced down at the space between her legs.

He placed a hand on the inside of each of the thighs and gently spread them further, lying down between them and leaning in close to trace along the edges of her lips with his tongue.  She buried the fingers of one hand in his hair to encourage him and breathed a deep sigh of anticipation.  Guy licked across her opening and up, almost to her clit, before stopping and repeating the motion, dipping his tongue a little further inside.  She tightened her grip on his hair in frustration, knowing that he knew exactly where she wanted him to be.  “I suppose I have this coming for all times I’ve teased him,” she thought, but when he raised his face to press only a light kiss there, she decided it was enough.  She buried both hands in his hair and moved against his mouth, moaning when he finally took her clit between his lips and sucked.  He switched between suckling and licking until she climaxed again, gasping sharply and shaking.  She was dimly aware of clutching his hair so hard that it had to hurt, but the pleasure was so overwhelming she couldn’t bring herself to let go.  As her spasms subsided, she collapsed boneless back onto the pillows, and Guy lay his head on her thigh.

As soon as she could move again, she sat up. “Alright, Guy.  It’s your turn now.  Lie down.”

He did as he was told, getting comfortable while she looked over him.  His hard cock was so deeply flushed it was almost purple, and she felt a little sympathy.  It had to be aching, and yet he hadn’t touched himself when she told him not to.

“You’re so beautiful, Guy,” she cooed. “And so good.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but she silenced him by lowering her head and pressing soft, light kisses along his shaft from base to tip, earning a quiet little moan with each. When she looked at him again, his mouth and eyes were open wide in shock.

“Darling, you don’t have to . . .”

“Hush,” she said with a teasing smile.  “I want to.” And then she looked down at him again

It was her first time using her mouth on Guy’s cock, and his size gave her some pause. After some consideration, she took the head into her mouth and gave it a gentle, experimental suck.  He groaned loud and thrashed on the bed, and she felt the muscles in his thighs quiver under her touch. A gush of pre-come burst forth to coat her tongue, and she pulled away.  So bitter.  She had never liked the taste.

She sat back and stroked until his breaths turned to quick gasps, then wrapped her hand tight around the base of his cock, feeling it jerk hard.  He growled in frustration and clenched the bedclothes in his in his fists, but didn’t say a word.

She leaned down to suckle at Guy’s tip again and stopped stroking to cup his scrotum.  He gave a ragged sigh and arched his back.  His pale skin was glistening with sweat, giving further definition to his abdominals, and she pulled back to delight in the way they clenched with each gentle squeeze she gave his balls.  She took his tip into her mouth once, and this time all his self-restraint was not enough to stop him from bucking his hips, trying to push further in.  She knew her gag reflex was far too sensitive to handle his width, so she released his scrotum to hold his hips down with both hands. With him thus restrained, she couldn’t resist lapping at his slit and frenulum, ignoring the now nearly constant flow of pre-come down his shaft.  He gave a long, pained moan at this assault on his most sensitive part and flung an arm over his face. 

Marian smiled and started pumping him again.  This time, when his breath quickened and his cock began to pulse harder, she cupped his tight balls again and tugged them, drawing them away from his body.  He cried out and pulled on the covers harder.

“Marian, darling . . . please, I can’t,” he pleaded, his voice nearly breaking.

“Shhh, darling,” she cooed, continuing to hold his scrotum in her palm.  “You’ve done so well.  This is the last time, I promise.”

And then she started stroking him again, slowly.  Every few strokes she rubbed her palm over the curve of his engorged, head, causing his mouth to open wide in a silent scream.

She felt him growing close again, and this time she released his scrotum and increased the pace of her hand on his cock.  Within a few seconds, his back arched and he climaxed, coating his chest and belly. Marian clicked her tongue at him playfully, and pushed herself up to sit on the edge of the bed.  The room had grown chilly, but she had no desire to put on her gown again.  Feeling Guy against her skin had been even better than she anticipated, and she didn’t want to lose that so soon.  After she had wiped off his front with a washing towel, she climbed underneath the covers and snuggled against his shoulder.

“This is why I wanted you to see my scar.  So we could finally be together . . . like this.  I hope . . . I hope you think it was worth it,” she finished softly.

Guy made no answer but to smile and pull her in close for a kiss.


	34. Guinevere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for . . . Arthurian inaccuracy? I know that Sir Galahad was not part of the legend yet at the time of the show's setting, but since the show itself has a laughable number of anachronisms, I'm pretty impenitent.

Once the snow had cleared, the question of where Guy would spend his nights became more complicated.  Since his accident, both he and Allan were wary of travelling at night, and on days when work on the tunnel ran long, the Master at Arms would invariably return to Knighton for dinner and to sleep.  Guy found himself missing him.  He was concerned about the effect so many hours a day with the Sheriff was having on him, and needed to see Allan to be reassured that he was bearing it better than he himself had.  And he rarely went to Knighton unless Allan or Marian had an errand for him there.  While she remained in good health, the bigger she got, the less she was able to do for herself.  He could hardly go further than the stables without worrying that she would need him and not be able to find him.  Seeing Allan was necessary to him in that respect too.  “Marian is fine,” he would always remind him.  “You have to stop standing over her all the time, or she’ll get annoyed with you!” She never put it quite so bluntly herself.

He missed him at night too. Sex with Marian continued to be exciting, but at the same time nerve-wracking.  With Allan, they had each had so much time to figure out what the other liked or was uncomfortable with, and they had the foreseeable future in which to enjoy it.  With Marian, he felt he was in a race against time.  He knew he only had a limited number of chances to be with her, and wanted to make the most of each of them.  With Allan it was, like everything else, much simpler.

He was almost glad when the biggest snow of the winter yet began to fall in February, bringing down temperatures so low that work on the tunnel had to be postponed.  That brought Allan to Locksley to stay until it stopped.  The stable was a bit crowded with Guy’s two horses, Marian’s mare, and now Goat, but fortunately the small stallion was so friendly, and the older mare calm enough, that they could go into the biggest box together for the night.  Usually, that box was occupied by Guy’s mare, and he was not entirely pleased by the arrangement.

“Horses need to move around in the cold, Allan! It helps them to keep warm.  It’s bad enough that she doesn’t get to go for a ride every day anymore.”

“Well, she could go in the big box with Goat, Giz.  They get along well enough.”

Guy narrowed his eyes; that was definitely not going to work.  “She gets along as well as she’s going to with that overgrown dog of yours.”

“Well, what about this, Giz? Goat can sleep in the downstairs bed, and I’ll come up and sleep with you and Marian!”

Guy rolled his eyes and lifted his face towards the ceiling, and that was the end of the conversation for the moment.  But after dinner when Guy was nervously considering where he would sleep, Marian brought it up again.

“Allan, I don’t like the thought of you sleeping downstairs by yourself.  Why don’t you get changed and come up with us?”

Guy turned to the younger man to see him gaping at her in surprise. “Um . . . well, I . . . you know I was just joking, right Marian?”

“Well, I suspect you were joking about Goat in the house; Edith would throw you both out in the snow!  But you know a bed with Guy in it is going to be warmer than one without, don’t you?”

Guy waited anxiously as Allan considered.  He didn’t want him to sleep alone either, and he had wondered what it would be like to share a bed with Allan and Marian.  He had never slept with two lovers before.  There had been one man in Normandy who had wanted to have Guy and another younger man at the same time, but there had not been enough attraction or, indeed, space to make experience pleasant for him. 

“Giz, what do you say?” Allan asked.

He shrugged.  This was possibly the only chance he would get, and how bad could it be? Marian had grown less comfortable with anything more than kissing as she continued to get bigger, so it was likely to involve no more than innocent sleeping.

“It’s fine with me,” he finally said.

* * *

Allan had been a bit apprehensive since Marian issued her invitation.  In fact, he had asked Guy with the hope of his refusing, or—preferably—offering to sleep downstairs with him.  After his day away from the Sheriff, he found that he wasn’t sleepy at all, and it didn’t seem to him that either of his companions were either.  He could imagine what they usually did before they fell asleep, but surely they wouldn’t do that with him there?

Guy stretched out in the center of the bed and Marian immediately curled up next to him.  As they both looked up at Allan, Guy reached out to pat the bed on his other side.  Sighing inwardly, Allan climbed in.

“So . . . what now? Are you going to tell us a bedtime story, Giz?” he asked, hoping to sound less awkward than he felt.

Marian smiled at him.  “Actually, Guy has been telling me stories of King Arthur.”

Allan raised his eyebrows.  He had joked about telling Guy’s horse stories before, but perhaps it was something she was used to.  Who else had he been practicing on over the years?

“Do you know any King Arthur stories?” she asked.  “Maybe you could take a turn?”

He took a moment to think.  There had been one night back when he was living in the camp when the gang was planning to intercept an early delivery of taxes and were trying to keep each other awake by telling stories.  Robin had told one about King Arthur, but the only detail he could remember was his incredulity about none of them having heard it before.  He suspected that the other men were familiar with some of the names the same way he was, from bawdy tavern songs, but none of them had wanted to tell Robin that.  He settled for shaking his head.

Marian gasped.  “Really? You’ve never heard any? Guy, you have to start over again at the beginning!”

Guy scoffed and shook his head good-humoredly.  “Oh no.  If you want to start at the beginning, darling, you’re going to have to tell the story!”

“But I like your version,” she said with a mock pout.

“So you have heard the stories before?” Allan asked.

She nodded.  “Of course! My father used to tell them to me, and so did the nurse I remember from when I was a child.  But their versions were . . . different from the ones Guy’s mother told.”

Allan’s eyes widened in disbelief.  Guy was barely willing to talk about his parents to him, and now he was telling Marian his mother’s stories? A lot certainly had happened in the past six months.  “Different how?”

“Well, my father’s stories were more . . . moral.  He wanted to focus on the lesson I should get out of the story,” she said sheepishly.

He gave a lopsided grin in return.  “You don’t say.  Imagine you getting the moral version!”

She rolled her eyes at the implied jibe, but continued.  “Needless to say, there were some parts in Guy’s version that . . . surprised me.  But he remembers so many more details than I do.”

Guy shrugged.  “My mother was . . . more forgiving of some characters’ shortcomings, I think. Anyway, they were my favorites.  When she told us stories, I always wanted those.  My sister Isabella hated them, though. She said the women never got to do anything, and that it was stupid.”

“She said what?” Marian blurted.  Allan had to stifle a giggle at her indignation.  “I’m sorry, but your sister didn’t know what she was talking about. What about Guinevere, or the Lady of the Lake, or Morgan le Fey or . . .”

“Whoa, hold on, Marian. I don’t know who any of these people are!” Allan cried.

She nodded, her cheeks coloring slightly with embarrassment.  “Well, then perhaps that’s where we should start.”

And that began a monologue describing the family tree of King Arthur, and descriptions of his knights and their ladies that went on for some time, occasionally interrupted by a question from Allan or a dispute about some particular detail from Guy.  Allan knew that he would forget most of this by the next morning, but her enthusiasm for the story and the unexpected ways she connected with it stood out to him.

“My father always told them in such a way that . . . I couldn’t really see myself as anyone but Arthur.  I suppose that’s why I was so interested in horses and fighting when I was young . . . and even now that I’m . . . not so young.  It seemed like men got to have all the fun.”

“That was just Isabella’s point,” Guy interjected with a smirk.

Marian poked him in the ribs to silence him, making Allan snicker.

“Anyway . . . now, I realize that the women are more important and more complicated than I thought. And now . . . I’m Guinevere.  For better or worse, there’s no one else with whom I have more in common.”  She looked up at Guy with a little smile.

“I don’t know if that makes you Arthur or Lancelot.”

He gave her a fond, mischievous smile in response.  “If Robin were here, he would say I’m Sir Mordred.”

Marian scoffed.  “That may be so, but if he wants to tell the story, he’ll have to put himself to the trouble of coming back.”

“Who’s Sir Mordred, again?” Allan asked, once more confused.

“He’s Arthur’s son, with his half-sister, Morganna.  They . . . killed each other,” Guy explained.

Allan grinned.  “Perfect! That sounds just like the two of you.  There is just one big difference, though.”

Guy raised his eyebrows.

“You’re much too old!”

Shaking his head, Guy turned to Marian.  “See what you’ve done? We could’ve been asleep by now, but you had to invite this insulting little thing!”

“Hush,” she scolded gently.  “I still have to tell him about Morgan le Fay!”

She continued, explaining that Morgan was her favorite character because, though she used her powers sometimes for evil, and sometimes for good, at the end of the story it was she who carried Arthur to Avalon at the end.  “It’s not a simple case of the evil being punished the righteous rewarded.  It’s . . . rather comforting,” she concluded.

Allan nodded with a wry smile.  It was easy to see why Marian would like that, as someone who also used her powers for good and evil.  He wasn’t so sure she had more in common with Arthur’s unfaithful queen, but decided to say no more on the subject.

 “Who do you think I am in the story?” he asked her curiously, changing the subject.

She raised a finger to her lips, considering.  “Well . . . Sir Galahad, maybe?”

“Pfft! The chaste?” Guy snorted, earning a slap on the shoulder from Allan.

“Don’t be such a bastard, Guy.  Maybe I was, for all you know.  Before you corrupted me.”

“Marian, is there a knight who’s known for lying? Maybe that’s Allan.”

“Behave yourselves, I’m trying to think . . . Ah! I know.  Sir Gawain!” she cried jubilantly.

“Who?”

Marian turned to Guy.  “Why don’t you tell him the story about Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.  That’s one of your favorites, right?”

“Do you want me to tell the whole story or just skip to the part where he kisses Sir Bertilak?”

“He does what? Yes, tell that story, Guy!”

* * *

In spite of his apparent enthusiasm, Allan was asleep on Guy’s shoulder before he was ten minutes in.  Marian supposed it was the steady cadence of thier lover’s deep voice, as well as the fact that the bed was so warm with the three of them lying so close together.  She certainly found herself struggling to stay awake during Guy’s stories, which was part of the reason why they so often turned into conversations.

She nudged Guy’s arm, stopping him.  “Look at him, Guy.  I think your story has done the trick.  Maybe we should blow out the . . .”

“Mm not asleep,” Allan murmured, rousing suddenly and blinking the sleep from his eyes.

“Allan, you’ve been drooling on my chest.  I _hope_ you were asleep!”

“Well, you know how to wake me up,” Allan replied with an insinuating smirk.

Marian couldn’t resist snickering at Guy’s shocked gasp.  “Allan! Not with Marian here.”

“Well . . . maybe she wants to join in! Don’t tell me you wouldn’t like that.”

Her eyes widened, but more in curiosity than in shock.  She had never thought of doing such a thing before, and had no intention of trying something so adventurous at this point.  But she was eager to find out if it was indeed something Guy wanted or not. She pushed herself up onto one elbow to get a better look at his face.

Guy looked back and forth between them, his blush growing darker with each passing moment.  When Allan stroked his belly down to his waistband, though, he turned to bury his face in Marian’s hair as though trying to hide.  Taking pity on his embarrassment, she held his face gently against her neck and said, “You know I’m too big for such games now, Allan.  Ask me again when I’m not nearly seven months pregnant, alright?”

“Fair enough,” he replied with a yawn, removing his hand.  “But it would save Guy having to decide which of us he wants to bed every night.  I’m only thinking of you, Giz.”

“And I appreciate that, pet.”

“Pet?” Marian felt a smile stretching the corners of her mouth against her will.

“That’s me!” Allan explained.  “You know how Guy likes to name things exactly what they are: Bay Mare, Overgrown Dog.”

“Are you his . . . pet?”

“Well . . . I like that better than Little Cocksucker. He could call me that!”

“Allan!” Guy snapped, with enough force that Allan sat up enough for Marian to see how wide open his eyes were.

“What? Do you think Marian doesn’t know that word?”

“I  . . . would hope not,” Guy replied, scandalized.

Marian giggled. In the past three months she and Guy had done so many things together, and yet he still treated her as though she were still innocent and inexperienced.  At times, she found it endearing, but at others it seemed ridiculous.

“Maybe we should blow out the candle now,” she suggested.  She was beginning to grow a little sleepy herself.  “We can finish the story tomorrow, Allan.  Even if the snow has stopped by then, I don’t think any of us will be going anywhere.”

“Alright,” Allan agreed, yawning and sitting up.  “Stay where you are; I’m closer.”

A moment later, they were in darkness.  She lay her head back on Guy’s shoulder, placing a hand on his belly.  The bed shifted as Allan lay down again, and then she felt his fingers brush against hers.

“Oops!” he exclaimed.  “You want to maybe . . . go higher? Or lower?”

Marian moved her hand first in one direction, then the other, colliding with Allan’s both times.

“Will you two just choose a position?” Guy piped in, pettishly.  “That tickles!”

Marian snickered, wishing she could see his face.  Guy must be so embarrassed, not to mention overheated, at having them both lying on him. Finally, she raised her hand to just underneath his sternum and relaxed.

“Ah, that feels nice,” Allan said.  “Comfortable, Giz?”

“For now,” came the disgruntled response.  He may sound put out, Marian thought, but she suspected he was quite pleased to be there.  As was she.

“Goodnight, then.  Goodnight, Marian,” he added.

She smiled to herself in the darkness.  “Goodnight . . . Little Cocksucker.”

“Oh my God,” Guy muttered, and she felt his chest rise and fall as he sighed.


	35. The Fire and the Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More canon divergence! In my fic, Sir Malcolm is as dead as a doornail. I already have so many characters that die in canon but don't here that the ones presumed dead can damn well stay that way.
> 
> Also history divergence. I know that King Richard was not able to arrive in England as intended historically, being held for ransom by Duke Leopold and others, but in my story he will. Everything plays into Robin's hand except, you know, the one thing. And maybe a couple of other little things.

Matilda found Marian alone that afternoon.  She had been sitting by the fire with her feet up in a chair.  Now that she was eight months into her pregnancy, her ankles seemed to be swollen constantly, and her back always ached.  It was almost as uncomfortable as the first few months had been, and from the frequency with which the baby was moving, Marian guessed that she was as ready to be born as she was to have her out. She wasn’t exactly sure when she and Guy had determined that the baby was a girl, but she found herself so convinced that a boy would come as a surprise.

Matilda rushed in with more than her usual brusqueness.  “Has it gotten colder outside?” Marian asked with a little smile.

“No . . . well, perhaps it has, but that’s not the point.  My lady, one of your cottages burned down last night!”

The smile dropped from Marian’s face.  “Oh no! Which one? What happened?”

The midwife shrugged.  “It’s Eleri and Jacob’s, and who knows? He told me that it burned so fast they just had time to get themselves out.”

“But is everyone alright?”

Matilda nodded. “Well, except for losing all their possessions, they’re fine. Eleri said she had to bundle Maggie the first thing she could find that was warm and rush out.”

“Oh no, and it’s been so cold all day! And where are they staying now?”

“With her mother, but that can’t last long.  You know it’s going to be cramped, and yet who knows how long it will take to rebuild?”

Marian sighed and looked into the fire thoughtfully.  “What I wouldn’t give to have a good steward like Adams here. He would know what to do.”

Nodding, Matilda reached to put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder.  “Do you want me to go out and tell Luke to send for him?”

Pressing a finger to her lips for a moment, she continued thinking.  Then she pointed her finger at Matilda.  “Adams will be busy managing things at Knighton.  Why don’t you tell him to send Guy to Eleri and Jacob and invite them to stay here on his way home.  He’s at Knighton.”

When the older woman gave her a searching look, Marian merely stared back at her.  After a moment, Matilda left, to return only a few minutes later.

“I’ll admit was wondering where Gisborne was.  Usually he’s with you,” she observed.

“Yes, but Allan’s just finished the tunnel . . . I mean supervising the work on the tunnel,” she clarified in response to the midwife’s raised eyebrow.  “Anyway, he took the day off and he wanted Guy for the afternoon.”

Matilda gave her an unreadable smile.  She never asked about her relationship with Guy, or Guy’s with Allan, but the woman had an uncanny ability to understand situations simply from observation.  Marian thought perhaps it might be blessing that she kept her mouth shut.

“It’s a clever arrangement, that. You can get what you need from him, and then you can get him out of your way.”

Marian simply stared at her in surprise.  She expected scolding, or at least a sour look. She made no reply until Matilda broke the silence.

“Well, when Gisborne does get back, have him mix this powder with some water and rub it on your legs. It will help with the swelling.” She produced an envelope from a pocket in her skirt.

“He should rub in on every night before you go to bed; he is still spending the night here, right?”

Marian nodded, somewhat reluctantly.

“Good.  It should go on in the morning too, so be sure he does it before he leaves.  You certainly can’t do it yourself!” she added, nodding at Marian’s round belly.  “Now, what about your back? Still sore?”

“At the end of the day it is, but then . . .” She trailed off, not knowing if she should really be telling Matilda everything.  After a moment, though, she decided it would be best; at least then she would know how harshly she was being judged.

“Guy sleeps behind me, and the warmth of his belly sooths the ache and lets me sleep.” As she finished, she peered at the midwife anxiously.

Matilda only shrugged.  “Well, you’re lucky to have your own heat pad!  Some women have to heat stones by the fire and wrap them in blankets.  Which is . . . not very safe, as you may imagine!”

Marian narrowed her eyes.  Would it really be that simple? “Are you . . . disappointed in me? In my . . . arrangement?”

At first, the midwife’s eyes widened in confusion, but then understanding seemed to dawn on her and she merely looked at Marian thoughtfully for a moment.  Finally, she said slowly, “It’s . . . not an ideal situation.  It’s never a good thing when the person taking care of you when you’re pregnant is someone who . . . may not be around after the child is born.  That could cause you a lot of grief.  And if Robin comes back . . . you won’t be raising this child with Gisborne.”

As she said the last part, she narrowed her eyes as though suspecting that Marian might contradict her, much to the younger woman’s surprise. “I don’t . . . think so,” she replied, and Matilda continued.

“So, as I was saying, the situation is not ideal.  But you know what would be?”

Marian thought she knew, but decided it would be better to wait for Matilda to tell her.

“If Robin were here.  And you were married to him.  But his absence is not your fault, and neither is the fact that you’re married to Gisborne instead.” She reached to put a hand on Marian’s shoulder again, looking into her eyes.  “I think you’re doing to best you can in the circumstances you’ve been given, love.  I thought you had lost your mind when you wanted him to come and live here with you, but you knew what you were doing. I don’t think you could’ve chosen anyone who would’ve helped you more than he has. Which was certainly a surprise to me,” she said with a little chuckle.  “And I’ll bet it’s surprised you, and even him, probably.  But this has all gone much more smoothly with him than it would have had you been left on your own, and I’ll tell Robin that if he asks me.”

Marian reached up to squeeze Matilda’s hand, smiling warmly as she thanked her.  These gestures seemed inadequate to show the gratitude she felt, but she didn’t trust herself to say more.  It was such a relief to know that someone, besides Allan and herself, would be on Guy’s side if Robin did return.

“Now, my lady.  Let’s talk about the more pressing future.  Are you sure Gisborne will agree to your invitation? And you know how Eleri feels about him; will she agree to it?”

Marian could only shrug in response. “Well, we’ll just have to wait and find out!”

* * *

The small family arrived that evening before Guy himself did.  Marian let them in herself, and the parents apologized profusely for knocking at the front door. 

“Gis . . . I mean Sir Guy only told us to come and that room would be made for us in the hall.  We . . . we didn’t really know what to expect,” Eleri explained.

Marian assured her that they had done the right thing and had nothing to worry about.  After they confirmed the information Matilda had given her about the fire, she said, “I hope Sir Guy didn’t frighten you.  I . . . know you’re not used to getting good news from him.

“You’re certainly right about that!” Jacob agreed.  “But he did say that it was what you wanted so . . .”

“Please tell him how grateful we are, my lady,” Eleri interrupted.  “We won’t be any trouble.  He won’t even know we’re here.”

Marian smiled at the change in her that the months since they last discussed Guy had brought, and promised to convey the message.  Once they were settled in, she had a small dinner alone and went up to be to wait for Guy.  She had begun to worry about him in spite of the clear weather by the time he arrived.  He undressed and got into his night clothes as quickly as he could while still shivering with the chill in the room.  While the solar was easily the warmest room in the house for most of the year, in the late winter the large window did nothing to help keep out the cold.

As soon as he was in bed, Marian rubbed briskly under his arms to help warm him.

“I wondered where you were,” she said, trying to keep her tone light so as not to distress him.  “It’s late.”

“I know, darling, I’m sorry.  I went to the cottage as soon as I got your message, but then I went back to Knighton.  Allan . . . said he had missed me, and he wanted . . . and then I fell asleep, but he woke me up after a couple of hours.”

“It’s alright, Guy.  You don’t have to explain.”

“Well, he knows you like sleeping with me at night, and I’d . . . be sorry if I didn’t.”

“I see,” she said with a chuckle, smiling in the darkness. “He was protecting you.”

“Well . . . he knew I would want to be here,” Guy replied, a bit nervous.

Marian leaned down to press a kiss below his ear, hearing him sigh in contentment.  “I’m glad you’re here. And I’m glad you let Eleri’s family come here, it’s . . . the right thing for the Lord of Locksley to do.”

Guy pushed himself up on an elbow to face her.  “It’s what the Lady of Locksley wants that matters, as they well know!” he said with sly humor.  But when he spoke again, it was with a more somber tone.  “At least that isn’t going to change.”

“Change?” For a moment, Marian didn’t know what he was talking about; then she realized. But she decided it was too late to start talking about Robin.

“Matilda was here this afternoon,” she said, changing the subject. “She gave me something to rub on my legs to help with the swelling, and said you should put it on at night.”

She felt the bed shift next to her as Guy sat up.  “Alright, where is it? Do you want me to do it now?”

“Oh no, don’t get out of bed; it’s freezing!  It can wait until the morning,” she insisted.

He hesitated for a moment, but then lay back down next to her.

“So, what else did Matilda have to say? Anything else we should be doing?”

Marian took his hand to wrap his arm around her as she turned her back to him.  Taking the hint, he pressed in close behind her.

“She said we need to decide on a name for the baby.  She’ll be here before we know it, she said.”

“I should hope so,” he replied with a little laugh.  “You won’t be able to fit through the door soon if she doesn’t come out soon!”

“I know. Anyway, I still have no idea what I’ll name her if she is indeed a girl.  I have no memory of Lady Jane, and my memory of my own mother is . . . foggy at best.  If we’re wrong, and it’s a boy . . . I think I’ll call him Malcolm.”

Guy was silent for a moment, and Marian wondered if she had upset him.  Did he think she had chosen that name as insurance to show her commitment to being with Robin should he return? She had to admit, that was part of the reason.  But it wasn’t all.

“Have you considered Edward?” he asked quietly.

Marian smiled, touched.  Of course Guy would think she should name a son after her own father.

“Of course, but . . . I don’t know.  For me, his death feels too recent.  I would feel . . . almost like I’m trying to replace him, and of course no one ever could.  But because Robin’s father has been dead for so long . . . it feels more like remembrance than grief, I think.”  She was silent for a moment, gathering her courage.  “And . . . I feel like a son should have a name from his father’s side of the family.”

She felt him sigh more than she heard it.  “I understand,” he said, barely audible.

Marian placed her hand over his at the top of her belly and lifted it to her face to kiss it.

“I know it seems like I want people to know the baby is Robin’s and . . . if it were safe, I would want that . . . but maybe not for the reason you think.”

“But, what other reason can there be?” he asked sadly.

She continued to hold his hand against her chest, stroking his fingers.  “People who know Robin’s family will know who the baby’s father is, whether he comes back or not.  But . . . it also tells something about you.  Even if he never comes back, and you and I raise this child together, I want people to know that you loved me so much that you forgave me for betraying you, that you still wanted me even though I rejected you and that you’re helping me raise someone else’s child.  I want people to know what a good man you really are and . . . and why I love you.”

Guy gave a soft gasp and, for a moment, all was quiet. Marian was afraid she had made a mistake in being so open.  But then she felt Guy press even closer behind her, wrapping his arm around her again to hold her tight. He placed a gentle kiss on her ear.

“Thank you, darling,” he whispered, so softly she could barely hear his voice breaking.  “I love you too.”

*** * ***

“When we get to Locksley, I want a slice of bread as long as my arm, fresh from the oven and dripping with fresh butter.  Then I . . .”

“Oh for pity’s sake, Much.  Don’t go on so about food; I just got back from the rail!”

Robin couldn’t quite hold back a snicker at that.  Poor John.  His seasickness has been so bad on the trip over that he had barely left the rail at all, and had arrived on land again completely exhausted.  He hadn’t liked the desert much more, but at least it had remained motionless under his feet, he had said.

So far, the sea had been much calmer on the return journey, but Robin suspected John was missing Djaq and her clever remedies.  She had not been seasick for a single moment, but she was observant and had learned much from other passengers on both of her sea voyages.  He missed her too, but after the weeks they had spent in Acre following their rescue of the king, she could not bear to be parted from her friends and family again.  Four months seemed like no time at all to her after her long absence from home, though it seemed like an eternity to him.

Still, he had insisted that they remain until the peace with Saladin was finalized and King Richard’s army was prepared for the journey back to England.  Much had pleaded to go home as soon as they had confirmed that all the Black Knights who had come on the regicide mission were dead, and John had been almost as bad.  “We’ve done what we’ve come for.  What could possibly be keeping us in this miserable, hot place when there are so many back home who need us?”

Robin had tried to explain that they could best help the people of Nottinghamshire, and England at large, by making sure that their king arrived home safe and sound.  Eventually, he had accepted his answer, though Robin wasn’t sure if it was from true understanding or simply exhaustion.

It wasn’t the whole truth.  Of course, the king was under constant threat from enemies in the Holy Land as well as at home, but he had just as many loyal friends and protectors. Men like Carter had certainly done an admirable job of keeping him safe during the two years Robin had been absent from his side, but he didn’t trust them to provide the other thing that the king needed: encouragement.  He knew the threat Richard’s subjects faced; he knew the extent of the damage being done.  Of course, so did Will, as Djaq had pointed out when they told Robin of their decision to marry and remain in Acre.  But what did the king know of Will Scarlett?

Still, no one was more relieved than Robin when the king was finally ready to leave, and he knew that all his advising and advocating had paid off.  He did feel a prick of guilt in his conscience during the detour in Rome, but he could hardly fault the king for wanting to pay his respects to Pope Celestine.  There was also the matter of the annulment the king had helped him procure as a reward for his loyalty and service.  The document had not left Robin’s side since the Cardinal had placed it in his hands.  Whatever else Marian felt towards him, he was certain she would be relieved by that.

He had thought of her often over the past months, hoping that she had found friends and supporters among the people of Locksley.  Certainly, she would be lonely and worried about him, but he was sure Edith and the other servants were doing their best.  As for Allan, he only hoped he hadn’t forgotten her in favor of Gisborne.  There had been a couple of moments when he had missed his keen brain, but he was certain he had done the right thing.  Someone had to keep an eye on things in the castle, he supposed, and he’d sooner have unquestionable loyalty on a rescue mission than cleverness any day.  It would be worth leaving him behind even if he had only distracted Gisborne from pestering Marian.

He barely had a thought to spare for his old enemy. It was the Sheriff who would be the real threat; who knew how many lives he would be willing to throw away to protect his castle? How many mercenaries would he have? What kinds of new, unexpected schemes would be in place? It was unlikely that Gisborne was playing much of a role in any of that. He had already been slacking in his loyalty to the Sheriff; the information they had received from him via Allan had proven sound. Perhaps he had even moved on to do some other master’s bidding by now.

But that seemed too easy to Robin.  Everything about this venture had been suspiciously easy; they had met with scarcely any trouble in any aspect of it.  The response of the gang had been rejoicing, but Robin found it difficult to join in with enthusiasm.  There was always trouble; if they didn’t encounter it at their destination, it must be waiting for them at home. Perhaps Gisborne was the concern he should have been worried about all along.

There was no choice but to wait and see.  The king knew that Guy of Gisborne was the man who had attempted to kill him those years ago; somehow, it seemed more recent to Robin.  What more the king would learn of him would entirely depend on how he had behaved during Robin’s absence.

As he looked out over the ocean, he though once more of Marian, and that he would see her within a couple of weeks if the good weather held.  He had to admit, he was a little nervous.  Would she still be angry with him for leaving her? He had written the note so hastily that he was sure it couldn’t possibly convey the love he felt.  But even as upset as she was over the loss of him, on top of her father’s death, she had to understand that he knew what was best for her.  He could make everything alright if he just a chance to explain.


	36. Goodbye

Matthew still had trouble believing his luck that the new Master at Arms had not only gotten him out of the dungeon after so many weeks, but given him money and means by which he could earn more.  He had considered simply giving it to his mother and sister and continuing to pick pockets as he had before, but he knew he might well end up imprisoned again if his new master saw him.  Why not go to Portsmouth as he had asked? At such a busy port, he would have no trouble continuing to ply his trade if the money he kept for himself did run out. So, having given the bulk of it to his family, he set forth.

It had been even better than he expected and he had stayed so long that he had almost forgotten why he had come in the first place when the enormous ships with the lion banners sailed into port.  He was transfixed; never in his young life had he seen such splendor, or so many soldiers.  The men marching were indistinguishable from each other, as were many of the knights on horseback, but one many stood out to him.  He was dressed in the fine clothing of a noble and rode a white horse.  Though he could only have seen him a few times in his life, and he had certainly been attired differently on those occasions, he had made a strong impression.  Matthew knew Robin of Locksley immediately.  He wondered if any of the other spies who were likely staying at Portsmouth would.  Perhaps Nottingham’s Master at Arms would pay extra for that bit of information.

He rode long into the night, getting only a few hours’ sleep at an inn before setting off the next morning, and arrived in Nottingham in record time.  It took a while for him to find his master, but he finally caught sight of him in the castle courtyard giving orders to his guards.  Matthew hid himself behind a pillar until the older man was alone and then called to him.

For a moment, the bright blue eyes were full of confusion, but then his expression became serious.

“It’s . . . Matthew, right? What’s happened? What are you doing here?”

Matthew blinked for a moment, uncertain how to respond.  “I . . . he’s here . . . Sir.”

Allan suddenly reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, looking at him hard.  “Do you mean . . . King Richard has arrived in Portsmouth?”

Matthew nodded, excited anew.  “And, you won’t believe who was with him . . . Robin Hood!”

He watched with growing concern as the color drained from Allan’s face, and he reached up to cover his mouth his hand.  For a moment, he seemed completely oblivious to Matthew’s presence, and the younger man struggled to react. 

“Sir?”

“You’re absolutely certain?” he asked sharply, tightening his fingers on Matthew’s shoulder.”

“I . . . yes! I’ve seen him before.” He could hear his voice shaking with fear as he struggled to get free.

Allan released him as quickly as he had grabbed him, and lowered his head with an anguished sigh.

“Oh no,” he muttered.  “This is going to kill him.”

Who was “him?” Obviously, he didn’t mean Robin Hood. Was it the Sheriff? Matthew had heard that Allan a Dale had been part of Robin’s gang and had betrayed them by sharing secrets with Gisborne.  It was no doubt that which had assured that he would take Gisborne’s job, though no one really knew why the former master had given it up.  Still, if he were sending his own spy to Portsmouth, how loyal could Allan actually be to his new master? Perhaps the rumors about Allan and Gisborne were true after all.

“Sir, are you alright?” Matthew asked softly, worried that he might startle him from his reverie.

Allan’s head snapped up.  “When did you leave?”

“Two days ago.  A day and a half, really.  I rode through much of the night.”

For the first time, he had the Master at Arms’ full attention.  “That fast, you say? Is Rob . . . is the king coming this way too?”

Matthew paused for a moment; he hadn’t stayed long enough to find that out.  “I . . . I’m not sure, sir.  But if he is, he won’t be moving near fast as I did, not with all those men.”

He noticed with relief that Allan’s features softened at that, but then he realized.  Robin was no longer part of the king’s army; there was no reason he couldn’t ride ahead of the rest.  And he was who his master had clearly meant to ask about.

“But . . . Robin could probably be here before then.  If he wanted to.”

Allan’s lips twisted into a grimace, and Matthew worried that he had been distracted again.  Was he ever going to get his money for this news? Then, just as quickly, Allan gave him a terse nod.

“Alright, then.  Thank you for your speed.  We’ll get you sorted, and then you can be on your way.  Follow me.”

* * *

The closer Allan got to Locksley, the heavier his heart grew.  Things had been going so well for the three of them in the past months. When he had first returned from London and learned what happened in his absence, he was jealous of Marian.  He had proclaimed his fear that she would cause harm to Guy, but some part of him had also worried that, if Robin never did return, he would lose the relationship that had come to mean so much to him over the past year.  But that hadn’t happened. He had spent even more time with Guy during the past three months than he had expected, and Marian actively encouraged it.  If anyone had told him a year earlier that he could share Guy with her and be so content about it, he would have taken it for the most outlandish joke he’d ever heard.

And now it was all going to be over.  Though his main worry was Guy’s safety, Allan couldn’t help feeling a little resentful of Robin too.  He had indeed chosen the most opportune moment to return.  A few months earlier, and he could’ve been the one to devote himself to Marian’s comfort, to lose sleep worrying about her health.  A month later, not only would he have missed seeing his child born, but he’d have the pain of knowing that Guy had been there for Marian, and had probably held his son or daughter before he did.  Which was exactly what he deserved, in Allan’s opinion.  Hadn’t he gotten her pregnant and then left her to go and play the hero in the Holy Land . . . again? And now he was going to reap the joys of fatherhood after putting in the least possible amount of labor.  How unfair! But at the same time, how typically Robin.

Of course, Allan knew pregnancies could be more complicated than that.  His own mother had been pregnant six times, each delivery more complicated than the last, until the last one had killed her.  Though he and his siblings had been herded out of the cottage when the time came for her to deliver, he could still remember her screams, and how helpless he had felt.  And that made it even worse! For Marian to have to go through that with someone she hadn’t seen for seven months, while the man who had taken such good care of her for all that time was banished from the house was difficult even to comprehend. 

And yet it must be so. The worst thing that could happen was for Robin to arrive home and find Guy of Gisborne at Locksley with his pregnant wife.  No, he had to take him away to the safety of Knighton, and let Marian explain in her own way.  But he knew it wouldn’t be easy.

What he saw when he approached the dining table after arriving was almost enough to make him turn around and walk out through the door before they noticed him. Guy and Marian were sitting, speaking in hushed tones, but before he could even make out their words he knew that she was teasing him gently about something, as she loved to do.  She was grinning broadly and rubbing his shoulder, and he was looking down at the table, his cheek pink, but still smiling. The smile melted from his face when he looked up and saw Allan.

“What’s the matter with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Marian looked up at him too, her lips pressed together tightly. “Have you . . . gotten some news, Allan?”

The faster he could tell them, the better, he decided as he gave a shrug. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

“The spy I sent to Portsmouth came back today.  He said King Richard’s ships have arrived, and he saw Robin among the men who disembarked.”

He watched, his heart sinking with worry as Guy gaped at him shock. A moment later, he slumped forward and buried his face in his hands.

“No . . . oh no,” he heard him mumble.  He wanted to go to him to try to comfort him, but his feet felt as though they were nailed to the floor. What could he say? He knew there was nothing he could do to soften this blow.  Turning to Marian, he saw that her eyes were still wide, but her mouth was set in determination.

“He’s certain that it was Robin he saw?”

He felt a twinge of annoyance.  He could understand why she would ask, but how certain could any of them be? About anything?

“That’s what he said, and I don’t think we should take any chances, do you?”

She shook her head.  “No, I don’t.  We’ll know soon enough if he was right.” Then she looked at Guy.

“You’ll have to leave.  Go back to Knighton with Allan tonight,” she said, softly but with conviction.

Guy lifted his face to her.  “No.”

“Guy . . .”

“No, Marian! I’m not leaving you to face him on your own.  Who knows what he’ll do when he knows the truth?” he asked, raising his voice.

“Well,” she said, clearly struggling to remain calm, placing her hand on his shoulder again. “He’s not going to know the truth just by looking at me.  Let me ease him into it.  He doesn’t even know I’m pregnant, remember? This will be a shock to him, even before he knows about . . . us.” To Allan’s ears, she sounded less relaxed than she was trying to appear.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright, Marian?” he asked more gently.

She stared at him critically for a moment, and he understood why.  If they were going to get Guy away from Locksley, he had to be entirely certain that she was in no danger from Robin.  That would require a lot of convincing on both their parts.

“Of course, Allan.  I couldn’t be more obviously pregnant.  If Robin sees only me, he’ll be delighted, probably.  Surprised, maybe.  But he knows where babies come from; he should know how this happened!” Allan found himself relieved to hear the edge of anger in her voice. She would likely need it if she was going to tell him the truth.

“But what if he thinks . . . you and I . . .” Guy asked meekly, jerking his chin to indicate her belly.

Marian’s eyes widened in realization. “No . . . no . . . I,” she stammered.  “He would have to think I slept with you before he had even set sail, which is when it would have had to happen for me to be this size now.  He . . . can’t think that.” Allan hoped she was more confident than she sounded.

“But, Giz.  Isn’t he less likely to think that if you’re not here?” Allan added.

Guy looked at him for a long time without answering.  “I suppose,” he admitted finally.

“Exactly,” Marian piped in.  “And even if he doesn’t think . . . that, he may think you’re harassing me.  The idea that you’ve been . . .” she paused, as though struggling to come up with the right word.  “Taking advantage of my condition to have power over me.”

Guy’s brows furrowed and his mouth twisted into a grimace. “Well, of course.  Obviously _I’m_ the person who stands to gain from you having a protector while you’re pregnant!” he hissed.

Marian sighed and sat back in her chair.  “Listen, Guy.  I didn’t say it was rational.  Robin has . . . never been very rational where you’re concerned.”

Allan nodded. “And Robin won’t see it as protection.  He was barely willing to acknowledge that you gave him information about the Sheriff’s plans.”

Guy lay a finger over his lips and peered at him out of the corners of his eyes.  “And yet you think I should leave the woman I love at the mercy of someone so illogical?”

Allan sighed with exasperation, finally pulling out a chair and sitting down at the table.

“Well, Guy . . . he loves her too! As much as he despises you.”

He expected more argument, for Guy to cite Robin’s long absence as proof that maybe he didn’t love her as much as Allan said.  But apparently he had grown as weary of the discussion as Allan felt.  He simply turned to Marian and asked, “Do you think that’s true?”

She sighed and gave him a sad smile. “I hope so, Guy.  I’m doomed otherwise.”

* * *

Allan spent the night, but he slept in the downstairs bed.  He wanted to give Guy and Marian one last night alone together. She came down first, with heavy bags under her eyes.  She said she hadn’t slept well, but she didn’t believe Guy had slept at all.  They had talked for most of the night, she told him.  “I hadn’t realized how much he wanted to be here when the baby was born.  From what Matilda has told me about childbirth . . . I don’t think he could handle it.  But he seems really worried that he’ll never see her now.”

Allan smiled.  That didn’t surprise him much. Even with all the dark things from his past that they had discussed, Guy had never told him how he felt about the son he had with Annie.  But he was certain it wasn’t because he didn’t care.  Perhaps he felt he had thrown away his chance to be a father, and now he was being denied another one as punishment. Who knew?

“What are you worried about?” he asked Marian gently.

Then he gasped, taken aback as her eyes filled with tears. 

“I’m so afraid,” she replied, inhaling sharply. “I’m afraid I’ll never see him again! That once Robin is here, we’ll never get to be together again, whether Robin forgives me or not.” She glanced at Allan, who merely nodded.  He was so surprised by this sudden torrent of emotion that he didn’t know what to say to her.

She went on, struggling to contain herself. “And I feel guilty now, because I’ve spent so much time imagining raising this baby with Guy. It’s not that I don’t love Robin, I do! I’m glad he’s back safe.  God knows I . . . I thought he might be dead! He took so long in coming back.  But I . . . I knew I was going to have this baby and Guy . . . was here! And even though I could never . . . never imagine having a baby with Guy when Robin left, now . . . I can’t turn around and imagine raising one with Robin, as though this had never happened!”

And with that, she broke down, her shoulders shaking as she buried her face in her upturned palms.

Allan was dumbfounded.  She certainly must be under duress if she was crying in front of him!  But then he thought of how emotional Guy must have been the previous night.  Perhaps she had been holding back all that time, knowing that seeing her tears would make it that much harder for him to leave.  He felt his chest swell with fondness for her, and reached to take her hand.  He still couldn’t think of any words to say, but she didn’t need them.  She clung to his hand until Guy came down, and the three of them had the same exhausting discussion they had had the previous evening.

It was finally Matilda who convinced Guy to leave.  She had been coming to Locksley more often than before in the past month, and arrived just after they had finished breakfast.

“Of course you have to go, Gisborne!” she snapped. “I know you feel protective of Marian, but you have to think about what she needs.  The biggest threat to her is not Robin’s return.  It’s getting overexcited or distressed, and having that baby prematurely.”

Guy opened his mouth to object, but she continued on over him.

“I know she looks like she’s about to burst, but she needs at least three more weeks.  Giving birth now could kill her and the child both; do you understand?”

He nodded, wide-eyed.

“Good.  I don’t think anything could distress her more than you and Robin having a row.  And you’re as likely to start that as he is! Go with Allan.  Let Marian handle herself.”

Guy nodded again, and lowered his head.  Allan thought he could see a little tremor pass over his shoulders, and worried that he might cry again.  He was just about to go to him when he saw Matilda place her hand on his shoulder and lean in to whisper something into his ear.  Even with his sharp hearing, Allan couldn’t make out a word of it.  Whatever she was telling him, it was taking a while to say, but he could see from Guy’s calmer expression that it was not upsetting him.  He decided it would be an opportune time to have Luke saddle the horses for their departure.

When he came back, his three companions were waiting outside.  Guy and Marian were facing each other, holding their hands between them.  As he approached closer, he could hear what she was saying.

“Please don’t worry, Guy.  I’ll have Edith here, and Eleri says she’s happy to help me, or answer any questions I have.  And Matilda will come often . . . wont’ you?”

The midwife nodded, and Allan felt heartened by the sympathy he could read in her face.

“And . . . I’ll try to write to you. I can send messages through Luke”

“Make sure there’s someone to let me know about the . . . you won’t be writing then,” Guy murmured.

Marian smiled as she nodded.  “I’ll make sure you know about the baby.  Just . . . please take care of yourself.”

And then she took hold of Guy’s elbow to pull down, bringing his face closer to his. This time, Allan didn’t even try to listen; he was having enough trouble keeping his own feelings in check. 

How was he ever going to help Guy cope with being separated from Marian? And on to of that, how was he going to gather his courage to meet with the King of England’s advisors to tell them about the tunnel? It was so daunting it was already making his head spin.  Once he had gotten Guy to Knighton, he would have time to think about that.

He was shocked out of this distraction when Marian lifted her hand to cup Guy’s face and brought him down for a kiss.  He ventured a glance at Matilda to confirm that, yes, she had seen.  Her eyebrows were raised as high as he thought they could possibly go, but she remained silent. When Guy turned to him at last, he could see the tear tracks already on his face.  Marian’s upper lip twitched slightly as she gave a final smile to the two of them, and then turned to walk back into the house with Matilda, the midwife’s arm wrapped tight around her shoulders.

Allan said no more to Guy; he knew it would be futile to attempt any conversation.  But as he rode behind him, he could see him shaking with emotion so badly that he could barely stay on his horse.

 


	37. The Confession

Robin arrived in Locksley village in the morning, accompanied by Much, John, and a small escort of four knights.  The king had insisted, citing the possibility of his coming upon the Sheriff’s men, and he hadn’t wanted to lose time by arguing.  As it turned out, they had only encountered the people of the villages going about their daily business.  Many of them did not even seem to recognize him at first; he had gotten his hair cut, and was certainly dressed in better clothing than he had been accustomed to while living in the forest.  But, they did know the remaining members of his gang, who had refused any new garments other than those they saw as fitting their station. “I shouldn’t know myself in silk and brocade,” John had insisted.

While Robin warmly returned the greetings of all who approached them, he insisted on their remaining silent about his return.  He knew it was unlikely, but he didn’t want anyone to risk their own safety by being overheard talking about him.  It was almost certain that spies would have reached the Sheriff and other Black Knights by now; it had been three days since they arrived in Portsmouth. Vaisey obviously had some plan in place if all his guards had been called back to the castle.

By the time they arrived in Locksley, though, they were all but mobbed by peasants, who were crying, “God bless you, Master Robin.” After he had spoken to them for a moment, most of them went back to work, but he couldn’t help noticing Eleri trailing along behind them at a respectful distance. He pulled up his horse to wait for her.

“Is there something you need, love, or are we just going the same way?” he asked cordially.

She hesitated to reply, and he noticed her fidgeted with her fingers nervously. “Well . . . the thing is, my lord . . . Jacob and I . . . and the baby . . . we’ve actually been staying at the manor these past weeks. You see . . . our cottage burned to the ground.”

Robin nodded tersely.  “Gisborne’s work, no doubt,” he thought to himself. “I’m glad that Lady Marian invited you to the manor.  It’s exactly what I would have her do.  What is being done to rebuild your cottage?”

“Construction has just begun,” she answered.  “They would have started sooner, but almost every able-bodied man in the shire has been working on the Sheriff’s tunnel up until it was finished just a few weeks ago. And . . .” She trailed off uncertainly again.

“Yes, go on,” Robin encouraged, filing away her words about the tunnel in his mind for later use.

She took a deep breath.  “It was Sir Guy who invited Jacob and me to come to Locksley.  I do think it was Lady Marian’s idea, but it was he who came to my mother’s cottage and told us room would be made at the manor.”

Even before she had finished, Robin felt his insides twist with rage.  He had found him there when he returned from the Holy Land the first time! But so much had changed since then.  He hadn’t been there for months at the time they had left, but apparently he had just been waiting for Robin to leave.  And he had Marian with him!

“What is Gisborne doing at Locksley,” he asked, a bit more sharply than he intended.

For a moment, Eleri just stared at him blankly as though it were obvious.  Then she lifted a hand to her mouth in shock.

“Oh, you don’t . . . well you couldn’t possibly . . . you’ve been gone so long.”

He felt himself losing patience.  “What is it!” he snapped.

“Lady Marian is with child,” she explained in a hushed voice, so low that Robin had to ask her to repeat herself, bringing his horse as close to her as he could without it treading on her.

“She learned that she was with child a few weeks after you left.  And she asked Sir Guy to come and stay with her, since he is her husband in the eyes of the law.”

Robin found his mind racing.  Marian was pregnant! And probably everyone in Nottinghamshire believed the child was Gisborne’s except for those she had taken into her confidence.

“And Gisborne has been there ever since?”

She nodded.  “We didn’t know why he was there for so long, but since he’s broken with the Sheriff . . . I don’t know, my lord.  She can tell you better than I can.”

Robin nodded; that was certainly true.  He thanked Eleri for her information and urged his horse into a trot, passing his party, who followed suit. As they continued towards the manor, though, Robin found his excitement to see Marian mixed with growing anxiety.  Her being pregnant made his leaving her much more complicated.  She needed him with her, and all she had was the man she had been forced to marry and had never loved.  That must have made her worries even worse! Why had Gisborne stayed there for so long? If he had only come to give the impression that the child was his, a few days would have been sufficient, not months.  And what did Eleri mean when she said he had broken with the Sheriff? He knew that Marian believed him capable of redemption, though he had never completely agreed with her.  Maybe she knew Gisborne better than he.  More pressingly, if Gisborne was longer Master at Arms, who was? He knew he would find out soon enough.

By the time he had stopped his horse in front of the house, though, all thoughts of Gisborne vanished from his mind.

Marian stepped out of the front door, followed by Matilda and Edith.  He could see immediately that Eleri had told the truth, and his chest swelled with pride.  He grinned and he leapt from his horse and walked forward, stopping to gaze at her in awe.

“My love, I . . . I’m back.”

* * *  
Marian’s first response when she saw Robin’s party from the window was a relief.  She had hardly rested from the moment Guy left her the day before; if it hadn’t been for Matilda’s coercion, she thought she might have spent those hours pacing in front of the door.

The midwife said she had told Guy she would stay by her side until Robin “settled in” and she had remained true to her word in spite of Marian’s protests.  “But you have other patients, she insisted.  What if they need you?”

“Well, they know where to find me,” Matilda pointed out.  “Now sit down before you wear yourself out.  You’ll need all your strength when he gets here.”

She found herself clinging to Matilda’s arm as they walked out of the house, for comfort as much as stability.  Seeing Robin again was almost overwhelming, and she realized now that he was standing before her how much she had indeed doubted his return.  She felt a wave of shame pass over her, and knew that it could only get stronger as the day wore on. By “settled in,” she thought Matilda meant until she had told Robin about her relationship with Guy.  That was what she hoped it meant.

“I’m so glad, my love,” she said, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him as close as her stomach would allow.  It wasn’t a lie; she felt herself flooded with contradictory emotions.  It was wonderful to know for a fact that he had returned safely, and she no longer had to worry about his being killed in the Holy Land or dying in shipwreck on his way back to her.  Of course, she knew he wasn’t out of danger yet, but it was no far more likely that she would at least know what happened to him.  At the same time, she knew she had to be honest.  She just didn’t know when.

After a moment, he released her and stepped back so they could look at each other properly.  From the smile that spread across his face, she could see that he was happy with her.  “When will my baby be here?” he inquired in a hushed tone.

She frowned at that.  There was just something about how quick he was to take ownership that didn’t entirely please her.

“Now, there’s no need for such a rush, my lord,” Matilda piped in, saving her.  “The baby will come when she’s good and ready.  Nothing we can do will rush her?”

“She? And what makes you so sure it will be a girl?” he asked, turning to her.  Matilda opened her arms and Robin pulled her into a hug as well.  It gave Marian a moment to think.

He certainly did look different, this man who had put her through so much peril without even knowing it. He had the same confident optimism, but it somehow held less appeal for her coupled with the neatly kept hair and the clothing befitting an earl.  He looked less like the brash, downtrodden hero than a man who always knew things would turn out to his liking because they always had before.

She found herself drifting towards Much and John, who had also dismounted from their horses.

“I’m so glad you’ve made it back safe,” she said with a smile.  “But where are Djaq and Will?”

“Oh, they stayed!” John proclaimed.  “They decided to remain with her family and get married.  It’s madness to me to live in that heat, but they’re happy.”

“I’m glad,” she went on.  “But I will miss them both.  How did you like the Holy Land?”

John scoffed good-naturedly.  “Well, I suppose it’s comfortable enough for those who are used to it, but I’m glad to be in England once more.  Now things can be as they were.”

Fighting back an observation that that was not a desirable outcome, she turned to Much.  “And what about you, my friend.  Are you glad to be home too.”

“Oh, yes.  I only wish it had been sooner!”

Marian nodded, “I can only imagine.  But I’m sure you had good reason for staying away as long as you did.”

“Well . . . yes,” he agreed after some hesitation.  “I . . . didn’t understand at first.  I wanted to come back right away but . . . Robin said . . .”

“Yes?” she urged, growing impatient in spite of her smile.  She knew that there was no deceit in Robin’s loyal former servant, but his reluctance did not bode well.  “Why did Robin want to stay?”

“What have you been telling my lady?” she hear Robin ask cheerfully behind her.

Marian knew she would have to wait until later to find out the particulars.  Until then, she would busy herself with getting comfortable beds prepared for her guests, and making sure they were well fed.

* * *

It had been long since so many had come to Locksley, and poor Edith was so beside herself that Marian found herself wishing that she was still able to help in the kitchen.  Fortunately, it took only a couple of words—“fresh bread”—to get both Much and John into the kitchen, chopping vegetables and stirring sauces. Marian was glad; it gave them something to do and her time to catch up with Robin.

“So, now you’ve brought the king back, what do you plan to do? Will he come to Nottingham?”

Robin nodded.  “Yes, we will take the castle and restore order here, then he plans to travel to London.”

She reached for his hand.  “I hope you know how proud I am of you.  You said that you would do it, and now you have.  Even if it . . . took longer than I anticipated.”

His brows furrowed at that.  “Well . . . it does take some time to travel to and from the Holy Land, Marian.  It’s far away.”

“About a month, from what I’ve heard.”

Robin frowned. “That’s in the case of good weather and no . . . detours,” he pointed out.

“Oh? Well, I know that you were able to arrive and conclude your business quite quickly.  I have a copy of a letter sent to the Sheriff explaining that you were able to defeat the regicide mission.”

Robin’s eyes opened wide with shock.  “How in the world did you get your hands on that?”

She smiled. “You’re not the only one with connections, Robin.  It was brought to me by the Sheriff’s new Master at Arms.”

“Who is?”

“You won’t believe it . . . Allan a Dale!”

Robin looked a bit less surprised than she expected.  “Well . . . he had done well for himself.  But, I suppose if he’s bringing this to you . . . maybe it’s a sign that his loyalties are still in the right place.”

“Yes. Add to that the fact that he’s talked the Sheriff into this tunnel scheme that will, hopefully, making taking the castle so much easier!”

“What’s this?” Robin cried, grinning.

“The Sheriff sent him to London some time ago to find out if there was anything Sir Jasper wasn’t telling him, and when he came back he brought an Italian with him who specialized in tunnels used for defense.  The tunnel has just been finished, and the Sheriff believes it is full of explosives.  But,” she added with a smile, “the truth is that it’s a perfectly safe way to get the king’s men inside the castle.”

He nodded approvingly.  “That does sound promising. I clearly made the right choice in leaving Allan behind.”

Marian wasn’t at all sure that had been Robin’s choice, but she wasn’t going to argue with him.  Not about that.  “Yes, you have reason to be proud of him.”

He frowned, and she felt her heartbeat begin to quicken with anxiety.  She knew what he would ask almost before he even opened his mouth. “Speaking of Masters at Arms, what happened to the old one?”

She signed inwardly; this was what she had been waiting for.  “Guy . . .” she trailed off; it seemed impossible to force the words out.

“I saw Eleri on my way here,” he said softly.  “And she told me . . . you invited him here because of the baby?”

She nodded, thankful that her guest had saved her the time.  She knew she could never have been so straightforward.

“I’m . . . sorry, Marian.”

She tilted her head in surprise.  “Sorry for what, my love?”

He sighed and took her hand.  “I’m sorry that I wasn’t here to support you . . . that you were left to his mercy.”

It was all she could do to keep from withdrawing her hand. Left to his mercy? What would her life have been like had her pregnancy become known while Robin was still there? It was the first time she had considered it, but would it have been better? She couldn’t have stayed at Locksley under those circumstances; she would’ve had to stay in the woods.  Would Robin have been around to soothe her during her nausea at the beginning, and rub her sore legs months later? Or would he have continued to scheme and battle the Sheriff and Guy just as he had before, leaving her to fend for herself?  She was certain of one thing; Guy would still be with the Sheriff under those circumstances.

“He was . . . very kind, Robin,” she murmured listlessly.

He looked at her with concern for a moment, then busied himself with opening his jacked and producing a scroll.  At first glance, she could make no sense of it; it was written in Latin.

“This document was signed by the Pope himself.  See? That’s his seal,” Robin, explained. He was so excited his voice was shaking. “It’s the annulment of your marriage, Marian.  You aren’t Lady Gisborne anymore!”

She gasped in shock, suddenly feeling lightheaded.  She had forgotten all about the plan to annul her marriage to Guy; she had gotten so used to being married to him.  And he had, as it turned out, been such a good husband.  And now it was over, and without her having to lift a finger or give any input. She gave a sob as grief welled up inside her, and buried her head in her hands, letting the document slide to the floor.

Robin got up to retrieve it, and then his arms were around her as he whispered reassuring words. “It’s fine, my love.  I’m here now.  Everything is going to be fine now; you’ll see.” Of course.  Of course he thought these were tears of joy.  There was so much he didn’t know, and she was already exhausted.  But he would have to know it all before she could rest.

She had just managed to get her emotions under control when Much entered and jubilantly announced that dinner was ready.

* * *

She spoke little during the meal and, fortunately, she didn’t need to.  Robin introduced the four knights who accompanied him and his gang, and the seven of them told tales of their adventures until Much and John were so tired they could hardly keep their eyes open.  It was yet early for bed, but Marian insisted on their retiring. “I’m sure you missed a lot of sleep on your trip, and you’ll need your strength for the coming days.”

Robin had wanted to go up to bed soon after, but Marian couldn’t bring herself to follow him up the steps.  “Let’s stay down and here and talk by the fire for a while longer,” she entreated.

Matilda gave her a serious glance.  “I’ll just be in the kitchen chatting with Edith, my lady.  Please let me know if there’s anything you need.”

Robin thanked her, and she was on her way. Marian began to sweat under the heavy fabric of her dress.  She knew she would be more comfortable in a nightgown, but though she felt it absurd, she couldn’t make her confession to Robin so informally dressed.  What if he threw her out of the house?

She reproached herself for even thinking him capable of that, but she wouldn’t know until she had told him. Arranging the chairs at a distance that would allow them to speak quietly without being too close, she motioned him forward.  She wanted to be able to observe his slightest reaction

“Come and sit down, my love, I . . . I need to tell you something.”

He walked to the fire, but rather than sitting down, he moved his chair closer to her, taking hold of her hand as he eased himself down into it.

“Ah, this is nice,” he sighed.  “I wasn’t looking forward to coming back to the cold and wet, but with a fire this warm I could get used to it quickly.”

“Yes, um . . . well . . . I wanted to tell you . . . about Guy.”

He rolled his eyes and shifted uncomfortably.  “Do we have to talk about Gisborne so soon after I’ve come home? I want to hear about you!”

She sighed.  “To tell you about me, I have to tell you about him too, Robin.  He’s been here with me for the past seven months.”

Robin frowned, and his fingers loosened on her hand, but he made no effort to pull away.

“I know that you invited him here so that people would believe the child was his, and you would be spared the scandal.  Eleri . . . suggested as much.  She didn’t tell me all the details, but I can’t think of any other reason why you’d invite him.”

Marian nodded, struggling to calm her jitters.  “Just get it out, Marian,” she coached herself silently.  “Yes, that is the reason.  And it was fine at first. I explained the situation, and he agreed to come for a week.  But then, at the end of the week, the Sheriff came here, first thing in the morning, and he found Guy sleeping downstairs.  So, in order to keep the fiction going, Guy had to stay longer . . . and he started sleeping upstairs with me.”

At that, Robin did drop her hand, moving it back to rest on his own knee.  His eyes widened, and she hurried her explanation.

“He behaved very well, Robin.  He never tried anything unseemly, and we remained content like that for months.”

“For months!”

She took a deep, slow breath. Why drag this out with explanations that possibly wouldn’t matter to him? “I was devastated when you left me, Robin.  I had lost my father; then I lost you.  Of course, I had faith that you would come back.  You did before.  But, realistically, there are so many things that could’ve stopped you.  Then I found out I was pregnant, and I thought I would lose my mind.  But then . . . Guy came.  And Allan too; he helped.  But Guy . . . he was so kind, and so considerate of me, and he asked for nothing in return.  He just . . . wanted to take care of me.  Even though it ruined his relationship with the Sheriff—he never trusted me, you know—Guy chose me.  That’s why he’s not Master at Arms anymore.  I wanted him to stay home with me. And he’s been here ever since.”

Robin’s eyes were narrowing more and more with each word she said.  “Why are you telling me all this?”

She sat back in her chair, eyeing him critically. Why didn’t it matter to him? If it hadn’t been for Guy, she may well have been found floating face down in Locksley pond, and he would have no excitement about his child’s birth to come back to.  Why couldn’t he see that?

“Because I . . . care for him, Robin . . . I . . . I love him.”

She exhaled, leaning as far forward as her chair as her belly would allow. When she glanced up at Robin, he was stretching back as far away from her as he could. “Now you know why I moved the chairs apart,” she thought to herself grimly. He just stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he reached into the breast of his jacked and produced the scroll, dropping it on the table next to him with a resounding thump.

“Is this document a lie, Marian?”

She blinked for a moment, not fully understanding.  “I’m sorry . . . what about it?”

He sighted and sat forward with his hands on his knees, brusquely rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands.

“Is this document that I received . . . from his Holiness the Pope . . . when I told him that your . . . marriage,” he spat the word out with distaste, “was never consummated.  Is this a lie?”

She hung her head.  “No.”

“You haven’t given yourself to him?”

Marian lifted her face to him with some effort; her head felt so heavy.  “Not in the way I have to you.  The way that brought all these circumstances to pass.  No, I haven’t given myself to Guy in the way that matters to the Pope.”

He continued to scowl at her with such determination that she wasn’t sure if he was relieved by the knowledge or not.

“I just can’t believe this, Marian,” he finally said, standing up and running a hand over his hair to settle it on the back of his neck, agitated.

“Can’t believe what?”

He turned towards the fireplace.  “I knew that you’d be angry with me for leaving you behind.  I expected that.  But for you to punish me by . . . by being with Gisborne, in whatever way that you were . . . that’s far, far lower than I would have expected of you,” he hissed.

Rage forced Marian to her feet.  She clenched her hands into fists and felt the blood rush to her face and neck.

“You . . . what? What did you say?” she asked, raising her voice.

He turned to her defiantly.  “I said I can’t believe you’re punishing me like this.  It’s . . .”

“You think I did this because I was angry with you?”

Stepping towards her, he continued.  “I can’t believe the woman I love would be with my enemy while she’s carrying my child in her body,” he said in a low, icy tone.

Marian’s nostrils flared and she drew her back up straight, ignoring the way that it ached.

“I am more than your child in my body, Robin!” she roared.  “I didn’t do this to hurt you . . . I did this because he was here, doing everything you should have done.” She lowered her voice after that, not wanting to be overheard.  “And I agonized about it.  You have no idea.  I told him twice, ‘we have to stop.  If Robin comes back, I have to raise this child with him.’  And he did.  And you still weren’t here.  And I . . . I couldn’t wait . . . for your permission . . . to feel this way about him.  It just happened, Robin.”

He shrugged dismissively, turning his back on her. “Say what you like, Marian.  It’s not my fault you betrayed me. Maybe you weren’t angry.  Maybe you just didn’t think of me at all.”

That was enough to bring her fury to fever pitch again. “Turn around and look at me!” she snarled, her voice even and deadly.

He did, the color draining from his face. 

“You left me, alone and pregnant, for seven months.  SEVEN months, I had no idea if you were dead or alive.” She felt herself trembling all over, sweat dripping down her sides.  “And now I tell you how I managed to survive and not lose my mind or our child and all you have to say that I didn’t think of you?” She panted, seemingly unable to draw enough breath, but she couldn’t seem to stop yelling either. “Damn you, Robin!” she gasped. “I EXIST when you’re not here! It’s not my sole function to think about YOU!  I’m a person too. I’m sorry that is INCOMPREHENSIBLE to you, but it’s true.”

And the room began to spin, and she suddenly felt off balance.  As she slumped to the floor she saw Robin rush towards her.  She tried to back away from him, but found herself unable. It was then that she heard Matilda shouting.

“GET AWAY FROM HER! You’ve done enough damage.  You want to be useful? Go and get her a glass of wine.  NOW!”

Then she was aware of the midwife kneeling on the floor in front of her.

“Look at me, my lady.  Breath.  Can you take a deep breath? Just focus on me.”

Marian did as she was told, inhaling deeply.

“There we are, that’s good,” Matilda cooed.  “Now another one.”

This went on for some minutes.  At some point, a glass of wine appeared and Matilda held it to her lips.

“Now, just a small sip.  I don’t think you’ll keep it down long anyway.”

Marian focused her eyes on her again.  “Matilda . . . I.”

“Shhh, my lady.  Don’t tire yourself.  You’ve just had a little fit.  It’s no surprise since he felt he had to speak to you like that.” Here she turned to look at something behind her. Then her eyes were on Marian again.  “But you’re going to be fine.  You just rest for a minute.  Then we’re going to the stable, and we’re going to send to Knighton for the cart.  And then I’m taking you home with me.”


	38. Variations on the Story

The past few days had been exhausting for Allan.  He hadn’t slept well in the bed at Locksley after being so worked up over the news of Robin’s return and how he could best plan for the arrival of the king.  The next night, he had Guy with him at Knighton, waiting for news that Robin had arrived, and he had barely slept at all.  He had done his best to console Guy, who had been weeping intermittently from the moment they left Locksley. 

Upon their arrival, he took him straight to the bedroom and later told his servants that Sir Guy was sick.  It quickly became clear to him that it would be true if he kept up his grieving at that pitch.  That night, he had lain behind Guy, stoking his chest and shoulder and whispering comforting words into his ear.  It was a position he knew his lover found soothing, but it was almost for him to get comfortable in it.   Eventually, Guy rolled over, and Allan turned to let the larger man spoon him.  In that more familiar arrangement, he fell asleep almost immediately, but it didn’t last.  He woke up to the sound of Guy sniffing against his shoulder, his hand spread out on Allan’s flat belly.

“It was . . . just a dream,” he muttered, and then began to sob again in earnest. Allan rolled onto his back and gently pulled Guy’s head onto his chest, stroking his hair until he calmed down and feel asleep again.  It was in that position that he had awakened the next morning.

He really felt his lack of sleep when he arrived at the castle the next morning. The Sheriff had been so anxious about the tunnel that he had insisted on testing the trap again and again.  Allan had to remind him that there was only so much black powder to go around, and they had to make sure there was enough for the army they actually intended to blow up.  The small amount of legitimate powder Vincenzo had left was potent indeed.  Even using only a little for the tests, one of peasant men had been badly burned.  He would still be able to work, but it wracked Allan with guilt all the same.  He hoped he could remember the man’s name to assure that he and his family could be compensated in some way later.

His biggest fear was that they would use up all of the proper powder and the Sheriff would realize that what was left was counterfeit.  It did look very similar, but Vincenzo had taught him to tell the difference.  The real powder particles were shinier, and the mass was heavier.  Fortunately, Vaisey wasn’t interested in getting that close to it.  Finally, much to his relief, the Sheriff turned to him and said.

“Nice work, Ally.  Now the trap is ready, we have only to send the bait.  I hope you’re ready to discuss business with His Majesty and his advisors within the next few days.  You’ll probably be the first peasant any of them have ever spoken to.  I recommend you take time for a bath.”

Allan squinted at him, biting back a reply that he might consider doing to same. Hopefully, within just a few days, he could wash his hands of this vile man forever.

He gave the news to Guy when he returned to Knighton, and that seemed to calm him a bit.  At the very least, they both got some sleep that night.  But the next morning, Guy was worried anew about Marian.  There had been plenty of time for Robin to return by then, and there was no one to stop him.  The Sheriff had insisted on all the guards returning to the castle to await the arrival of the king.  After a quick breakfast alone in the dining hall—Guy choosing to continue avoiding Knighton’s servants—he made his way to Locksley.

* * *

When he arrived, it was far quieter than he expected.  Not only was Robin and anyone who may have accompanied him absent, but so was Marian, who usually greeted anyone who came in. He made his way to the kitchen as quickly as he could, and there found Edith, rolling out pastry.

“Where’s Marian?” he inquired, hoping he didn’t sound as panicked as he felt.  There was no need to alarm the woman if there was, in fact, nothing wrong.

When she sighed and continued to look down at her work, he knew that was not the case.

“She’s gone with Matilda, Allan.  They left after Marian had a row with Robin last night.”

Allan half sat, half collapsed into the chair next to the table. “Well . . . that’s not good! Please,” he entreated, looking up at her. “Tell me all you know.”

She stood up straight and brushed the back of a flour covered hand against her forehead. “I wasn’t in the room at the time; I just heard from in here.  But from what I gathered, Marian told Master Robin about Guy staying here and he . . . didn’t like it.”

Allan nodded, his heart pounding within him.  “I would’ve guessed that.  But why did she leave with Matilda? Things must’ve gotten worse fast.”

She sighed and started working the pastry again.

“Matilda was in here with me when we heard Marian shouting.  Something about how Robin didn’t understand . . . what she’d been through.  And then Matilda went out and the next thing I knew she was shouting at Robin too, and then he rushed in here, his face as white as my apron, to get some wine to take to her. A few minutes later, Matilda all but carried her in here—apparently, she’d fainted, or the like. Then Matilda went out with Robin and said something to him.  I didn’t hear that; I was too busy trying to calm Marian, and when Matilda came back she took her.”

He sat in stunned silence for a moment.  He knew Robin would be upset, but he never thought he’d be a danger to Marian.  And yet that must be the case, because why else would she go with Matilda?

“Do you think Robin would . . . that he’d?” He seemed to have trouble even putting it into words.

The servant’s eyes widened.  “Oh, no! I don’t think he’d ever hurt Marian.  Not on purpose.  But she’s so far along in her pregnancy that . . . his meaning to or not wouldn’t matter.  She just can’t afford to be that upset now. I think Matilda just wanted to get her away from him so he’d have a chance to think and calm down.”

Allan breathed a sigh of relief.  He knew Matilda would not wish to keep Marian at her cottage, and Marian would hardly want to stay.  And having her come to Knighton was probably not the best idea under the circumstances.

“And where’s Robin now?”

Edith shrugged. “He, and Much and John, and some knights I didn’t know, spent the night here last night.  But this morning, they just took some bread for their breakfast and left.  That’s what my Ruth told me, anyway; I was here in the kitchen.”

Allan got up, resolved in what he needed to do.  “I would imagine they’ve gone back to King Richard’s camp.  You probably won’t see them again until the castle is taken. I think I should go and find out how Marian is.”

“Yes, please do, Allan,” Edith entreated.  “And then, if you have the time, could you come by here and let me know how she is?”

He turned to her with a smile, warmed by the affection in her tone.  “I think I can do better than that. I’ll bring you Marian herself.”

* * *

As Allan prepared to mount his horse, he noticed Luke about to depart in a very familiar looking cart.

“Oi, Luke!” he called out.  “What is Knighton’s cart doing here?”

“Oh, hello, Allan.  Matilda sent for it last night.  She said she wanted to take Lady Marian home for some reason.  I drove them, but it was so late that I didn’t much like the idea of walking back to Locksley after returning it, so I was about to do it now.”

Allan led Goat to the cart and began tying him to the back.  “I’ll save you the trip! I’m going to bring Lady Marian home in it, and then I’ll take it back to Knighton myself.”

Luke frowned, concerned.  “I mean no disrespect, sir, but are you sure you know how to drive it?”

“Well, we’ll see,” Allan replied.  How different could it be from riding a horse, really?

It turned out to be very different, but fortunately, the old horse pulling the cart seemed to remember the way she had traveled the previous night, and he found himself at Matilda’s door.  He knocked, and Marian answered, blinking with surprise.

“Allan? What are you doing here?” She tilted her head, confused, but then opened her mouth wide in a gasp.

“Is it Guy? Is he alright?”

“Shhh, don’t fret,” Allan said gently.  “Guy is fine.  I mean . . . he’s not great, but no harm has come to him.”

She smiled tiredly.  “Good.  Has he gotten any sleep?”

“A little,” Allan answered.  “He woke up feeling my belly the other night, and realized that I wasn’t pregnant.  And he didn’t like that, so there were tears.”

Marian’s expression fell so fast that for a moment Allan was afraid she would cry too.  “How are you?” he asked quickly.

She sighed deeply and stood aside from the door.  “Would you like to come in and sit down? This could take some time.”

Allan smiled.  “Actually, why don’t you come out? I promised Edith I’d bring you home for dinner.”

Marian’s face went pale.  “I . . . I don’t think I should come back there . . . yet,” she said, peering at the cart out of the corner of her eye.

“Listen, Marian,” he coaxed, “I know you don’t want to stay here while Matilda is out seeing patients all day, do you? Or are you worried about having to face Robin again?  I talked to Edith; she told me what happened.  At least, from what she saw and heard.”

She looked down as though ashamed, but Allan thought he saw a feeling of relief pass over her face before she did.

“Well . . . yes. That shouldn’t surprise you if you know.”

He hesitated a moment, then stepped forward to place a hand on her shoulder. “Marian . . . he’s not there.”

As she looked up, her eyes widened.  “He’s not? Where did he . . .?” Allan could hear a trace of panic in her voice.

“Don’t worry,” he insisted.  “I think he and the others probably just went back to the king’s camp.  I’m not surprised he rode ahead, but you know Robin won’t rest until the job is complete, especially now that he’s succeeded in getting the king home.  And it’s not even a hoax this time! Hard to believe.”

She gave a little smile at that.  “Yes . . . that makes sense.  I just can’t help . . . being a bit worried that he’s gone because he’s angry with me.”

Allan remained silent for a moment, thinking, not quite certain he should say what was on his mind.  It might not be the thing she needed to her, but if it would make her feel any better . . .

“Well, aren’t you angry with him?”

Her smile turned into bitter, tight line.  “Help me into the cart, Allan.  I’d like to get through this before we arrive at Locksley.”

A few minutes later, she was watching him as anxiously as Luke had.  “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather let me drive?”

He rolled his eyes in exasperation.  “What is it that I’m doing wrong? The horse is going the way I want!”

“Yes, but you’re holding the reins too tight.  Just loosen them a little.  There, that’s better.”

Allan sighed.  “So, let’s get back to Robin.  What did he say when you told him you love Guy?”

She scoffed.  “Oh, he decided it was all about him! First he accused me of doing it out of revenge.  Please! If I had done it for that reason we would’ve become lovers in a week, not four months! I certainly wasn’t thinking about Robin when I made that decision.  If I was . . . I wouldn’t have done it.  That was the other thing.”

“Hmm, what other thing?” Allan found it harder than he’d expected to drive the cart and hold a conversation at the same time.

“The other thing Robin said.  He said I didn’t think of him at all.”

“He what?” Allan exclaimed, turning to face her.

“Face forward, Allan, and don’t move your hands so much,” she replied, laying a hand on his arm.

“Sorry. But . . . what does he know? Where’s his proof that he was thinking about you enough, eh? First he left you behind, against my very good advice.  Then, he stayed for three months beyond what it took to complete his mission.  Why?”

“Well . . . I did mean to ask him that, but we got caught up in the other thing.”

Allan considered for a moment. “I suppose maybe he wanted to make sure the king was going to come home? It was a long way to go to come back with just Much and John. Hey, do you know where Djaq and Will are? Edith only mentioned two names to me.”

“Oh,” Marian gasped.  “They . . . they’re getting married! They decided to stay.”

Allan felt his heart sink in his chest, and a sense of regret flooded him.  He had barely spoken to Will since Robin discovered that he was spying for Guy, and knew he still held some resentment towards him.  He had always wanted to try talking to him again, to repair their friendship in some way or, failing that, at least be on amicable terms.  But he always assumed there would be time later.  And Djaq.  So often, he had wanted to thank her for her faith in him.  He was certain she had played no small part in getting Robin to trust him again, in some small measure.  That, too, had been postponed, and now it seemed unlikely to ever happen.

“Allan, I . . . I’m sorry,” Marian said softly.  She lifted her hand again and squeezed his shoulder.  “I know you cared about them very much.”

He gave her a smile. “It’s alright, I . . . If they’re together and happy . . . that’s what matters.”

He decided to change the subject; Marian had enough troubles of her own without consoling him. “So, you think Robin stayed to urge the king a bit?”

Her mouth pressed into the same grim line as before. “I think he’ll say that, if we ask him.  But . . . when has Robin ever minimized his own importance?”

Allan gave an inward sigh of satisfaction.  At some point, he couldn’t really remember when, he had gotten past his fear that Marian would simply pretend nothing had happened between her and Guy once Robin was home.  Her feelings for him were too demonstrably genuine.  But with that realization had come the fear that she would be crippled by guilt too.  For all the love she had for Guy, Allan had never doubted that she still loved Robin too, and that it would hurt her for him to learn of her betrayal.  That she was angry with him too showed that her spirit had not been broken.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll get a chance to ask him, once this business about the castle is concluded.  Assuming that Robin lets the king go on to London by himself.”

They had arrived at Locksley by that point, and Allan stopped the cart, going around to Marian’s side to give her his arm. Once she was on the ground again, she took hold of his shoulders and looked into his face intently.

“Listen, Allan, take care yourself, alright? I know the coming days are going to be difficult for you. Just . . . don’t take any unnecessary risks, alright?”

He gave her a mischievous grin.  “I’m not being funny, Marian, but when did you ever take that advice?”

She rolled her eyes, “I’m serious, Allan! You’re the only one of us who’s not an emotional wreck now.  We can’t afford to lose you!” She was smiling, but he could hear the anxiety in her voice.

“I will, Marian.  When have I ever put myself at risk?”

At that, she actually laughed.  “Oh . . . only every single day since you decided to intercede between Guy and Robin! Face it, Allan. You’re as brave as any of us. I’m actually quite proud of you.”

He grinned again, placing his hand over one of hers.  “And I’m proud of you, Marian.”

“Me?” she scoffed, dropping her arms.  “That’s a laugh.  Why?”

Allan shrugged.  “It can’t have been easy for you to tell him the truth.  You could’ve just kept quiet and let him think everything was fine.  That would’ve been the easy way, but you didn’t.  You just told him.  Now it’s up to him to react; it’s out of your hands now.”

She hung her head for a moment, exhaling. “I know.  And I know I should take comfort from that, but I can’t.  Not yet, anyway.” Then she raised her hand to his shoulder again.

“Tell him I love him, Allan.  Tell him I . . . think about him all the time.  But . . . maybe, don’t tell him anything that will upset him too much.”

He looked at her questioningly.  “Like what?”

Marian sighed.  “The annulment, maybe.”

He thought she might mean that.  “If you don’t want me to, I won’t.”

She was silent for a moment, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully.  “I’ll leave it up to you.  If you think it will help him, tell him.  Now, I had better go in.”

Allan leaned forward to press a quick kiss to her check.  “Take care, Marian.  I’ll be back to see you soon.”

“Please do,” she replied with as sad smile before she turned and entered the house.

* * *

When he entered the bedroom, he saw that Guy was still lying under the covers with his back to him.  Allan sighed; it troubled him to see him still in the room, but hopefully it meant he had caught up on the sleep he’d missed since Matthew brought his news.

Removing his boots, he climbed onto the bed as slowly as possible and lay down behind Guy, wrapping an arm around his waist. He didn’t want to wake him, but after the day he’d had he needed to be close to him.

“Hello, pet,” he mumbled sleepily, covering Allan’s hand with his own.

“Hi, Giz,” he purred. “Did you get some sleep today?”

Guy nodded. “Most of the day, actually.  I did go to the kitchen for some food a little while ago.”

“Oh, that’s good!” Then Allan hesitated.  “Were . . . I hope the servants were nice to you.”

“Well, they fled as soon as they gave me my food,” Guy recalled.  “But they didn’t poison me, apparently. I suppose I don’t look very dangerous anymore.”

He turned to look at Allan, and he could see why.  Guy was unshaven and still had dark circles under his eyes.  His hair was getting a little greasy as well.  Maybe he could talk him into a bath later too.

“I have . . . news, Guy.  It might cheer you up.”

His eyes widened.  “Marian?” he gasped anxiously. “You’ve seen her?”

Allan nodded.  “I just delivered her back to Locksley.  She spent last night at Matilda’s.”

When Guy’s face blanched, he realized he had said the wrong thing. “Why did she leave Locksley in the first place? She shouldn’t be out; it’s not safe!”

Allan took a deep breath; he wished he had given himself more time to construct a version of the story that wouldn’t bring Guy’s panic to full froth, but he hadn’t.

“She and Robin had a fight; he didn’t take the news of her relationship with you well.  Matilda took her to save her from being upset further.”

Guy sat up, scowling at him.  “So, she had to leave because he can’t control himself?” he hissed. “If after seven months, he can’t get along with her for one day, he should’ve left!”

“Well, he’s gone now, Guy.  And I honestly think it would be asking too much of him to take that news calmly.  You were pretty upset when she told you she loved him, if I remembered correctly.”

Guy only shrugged, keeping silent.

“She told me to tell you that she loves you, and that she’s thinking about you.”

Guy looked away from him, biting his lower lip as if to hold back further tears.  Allan lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck, soothing him.  A moment later, he seemed to have gotten control of himself again.

“Did she say anything else?”

Allan reflected.  “Well, she told me to be careful . . . about the king and the castle.”

“And I hope you’ll heed her words,” Guy went on, trying to smile.

Allan lay down on his back, looking up at the ceiling.  He felt the bed shift as Guy lay next to him, propped up on an elbow to look down at him.

“To tell the truth, I’m more worried about meeting the king than about the tunnel.  I know it will work; I just don’t know if he’ll believe me.”

“Well, he should,” Guy insisted.  “I’m sure he won’t want to waste time on a siege.  I . . . haven’t spent much time in his company, as you know, but he didn’t thrive in the Holy Land so long by being stupid.”

Allan grinned up at him.  “Whoa, Giz.  That’s . . . actually encouraging! Who would’ve thought?”

Guy shoved his shoulder gently.  “Maybe he’ll even knight you, who knows?”

Allan took a minute to think about that.  “Hmmm.  I think I’d rather not.  Being knighted doesn’t seem to have done you a lot of good.”

His lover gave a bitter bark of laughter.  “No, you’re right about that! But it’s not all bad.  I slept with my first gentlewoman after I was knighted.”

“Oh? Do tell,” Allan demanded eagerly, turning onto his side to face Guy.

He could see that he was already starting to blush.  “She was a widow of a lord who had been part of Prince John’s inner circle.  We met at one of his dinners and spent a few nights together.  Until the Sheriff and I had to leave London to come here, actually.”

“So . . . are you saying I’ll get to have a gentlewoman if I become a knight? I’m not sure that’s a very good inducement.”

“Well . . . to be honest, it’s probably more accurate to say that she had me,” Guy confessed. 

The smile faded from his face, and Allan could see that he was thinking of Marian again. He decided to say nothing more.  Guy had already seemed livelier than he had since leaving Locksley; he didn’t want to press him.  Lying down again with his head on Guy’s chest, Allan waited for his breathing to slow.  Once he was certain he was asleep again, he got up and went into the kitchen to get dinner for himself.


	39. The Tunnel

Even well into their ride back to the king’s camp, Robin remained silent, distracted from Much and John’s conversation about the upcoming attack on Nottingham castle.  He was still reeling from Marian’s confession but also, much to his surprise, from his reaction to it.

At first, he had felt a cold rage.  Even his horror at seeing her collapse to the floor had faded once he saw that she was going to be alright, and had been replaced by anger once again.

When Matilda emerged from the kitchen to tell him that Marian was doing better and would be going home with her, he had rounded on her.

“Did you know what was going on between Marian and Gisborne?”

She heaved a deep sigh and put her hands on her hips.  “I suspected that they were . . . closer than I’d like.  But I never asked because it was none of my business.  It’s my job to care for pregnant women, Robin.  If I started judging them, I couldn’t work.  I could tell you stories about people you know that you wouldn’t believe.  But they’re none of your business.”

“Well what Marian does is my business! I love her and I . . . believed that she loved me.  That’s my child she’s carrying! Isn’t it?”

Matilda’s face was stony.  “Unless you think she was bedding Gisborne before you left, you know it is.”

Her confidence reassured him; that at least was something.  He had been overjoyed when he learned that Marian was pregnant, but her infidelity complicated things terribly.  “I can take the child when it’s weaned,” he said, more to himself than Matilda.  “Or I could find a wet-nurse.  I’m sure there must be someone who . . .” He trailed off when he saw how she was looking at him.

The color had drained from her face, but her eyes were so wide they were almost bulging. As she advanced towards him, she spoke in low tone that was no less chilling for being quiet.

“Listen to me, Robin.  You’re like a son to me, and I love you.  I brought you into this world, but so help me.  If you threaten her with taking her child that she’s carried in her body for eight months, I will send you into the next one!”

He was so taken aback that he didn’t know what to say.  “I . . .”

“Yes, the law may say your offspring belong to you, but it’s a ridiculous law.  So far, you’ve done nothing for this child except help make it. I realize you didn’t know about it until this morning, but Marian will never be the same, and that’s if all goes well! She could die, Robin!”

She was silent for a moment, and he could see that she was trying to calm herself.  When she spoke again, it was in a more relaxed tone.

“I understand that you’re angry, and you have every right to be. But, it’s important that you understand how fragile her health is.  Anything that affects her affects the baby, so it’s very important that she not be upset.”

Robin reached up to rub his neck again, and began to pace in front of the fireplace, too anxious to stand still.  He didn’t know how to react.  He had wanted to hurt Marian as she had hurt him, but not in a way that would have lasting consequences.  And anything that hurt the baby would certainly be that.

“Alright,” he said finally.  “I’ll try to stay calm.  And if things get so . . . heated between us again, I’ll just walk away.”

Matilda’s expression softened.  “Good. Thank you. That’s all I ask.”

And without another word, she was gone.

Robin had been too distressed to go up to sleep in the master bedroom that night.  He considered sleeping in the bed he found downstairs in what used to be a storage room, but then he remembered what Marian had told him when he asked how she had avoided sleeping with Gisborne after their wedding.  He had probably slept in that very bed; the irony was unpleasant to think about.  Finally, he had settled down next to Much, as he occasionally had on the voyage home.  The familiar sound of his soft snores had eventually lulled him into a broken sleep.

And yet he still felt more tired on the ride back to camp than he had since the voyage to the Holy Land when everything had been so uncertain. Eventually, the three were riding in total silence.  Much broke it, speaking anxiously.  “Robin . . . I . . . is everything alright?”

Robin looked around from his horse’s back to look at him.  “Yes, why? It sounds like you and John have everything worked out about tomorrow.”

“I . . . don’t mean that, Robin.”

“Much,” John warned.  “Leave him alone.”

Robin watched as his friend looked back and forth between him and John, his lips pressed together as though trying to hold his words in. But they burst forth anyway.

“I’m sorry . . . I have to ask why Marian and Matilda were shouting at you last night.”

Robin cursed inwardly; he had hoped they had slept through that.  The truth was that he would have preferred to keep his troubles from John, and especially Much, for as long as possible.  They would mean to help, but he needed to think things through rationally.  His remaining men spoke from their hearts, often heedlessly; he had already made that mistake once.

But now Much had asked, and he knew there was no way of putting him off forever.  He could only do his best to word his explanation neutrally.

“Marian told me that she and Gisborne have . . . grown closer while we were away.  And I was angry about it.”

Much gasped.  “But, Marian would never betray us to the Sheriff!”

Robin faced forward to hide his bitter smirk.  No, not that kind of betrayal.  “I know that, Much.  This isn’t about the Sheriff.  Gisborne isn’t even working for him anymore, according to Marian.”

Much was quiet then, perhaps puzzling out why he was angry that Gisborne _wasn’t_ a threat.  It was John who spoke next.

“The baby?” he inquired quietly.  Robin knew what he meant.

“It’s definitely mine.  But I still don’t know what will happen now.”

“We could raise it!” Much blurted.  “We did alright, you know, with that baby who actually was Gisborne’s.  If she’s decided she wants to be with him now.”

“Has she? Is that what she said?” John asked.

Robin thought for a moment, trying to remember the words she had said as opposed to how he had felt about them.

“No, she didn’t.”

“Well . . . then what is there to figure out?”

Robin turned around to look at him, trying to guess at his meaning.  “How’s that?”

“I just mean . . . you love her, don’t you? She gave herself to you before you were married.  That’s no small thing for a woman like her.”

Robin bristled at that, and turned back around.  I may have been deceived about the kind of woman she is, he thought to himself.  But he said nothing; he wasn’t ready for his men to know the extent of her betrayal.

“Just be careful, Robin.”

“I will,” he replied, eager to change the subject.

“I’m serious.  I know you’re young, but . . . listen to me.  Marry her, like you planned, and raise the child with her. Don’t make a mistake you’ll regret for the rest of your life.”

Robin said nothing to that; the camp was in sight, and he sped up his horse, hoping the others would take it as eagerness to report his findings to the king.  But he knew John was speaking from experience.  His guilt over leaving Alice and his son still festered away inside him.  Even though Alice had not sinned as Marian had, would that matter to him in five years? Or ten? He resolved once more to not make any rash decisions.

* * *

It was early the next day when Robin saw a man riding towards him on an especially small horse.

“I still can’t get used to the sight of you in all that black leather, Allan,” he observed.

Allan gave him a long look up and down.  “You look a little out of place in your fancy trimmings too, Robin.”

“Congratulations on your promotion.  Marian tells me you’re the new Master at Arms.”

Allan looked at him in silent suspicion for a moment, and it occurred to Robin how accusatory his words must sound.  He felt a moment’s regret.  Perhaps Allan had used his position for good, in a way that would ultimately help the king’s cause.  Or maybe he had sold out and joined forces with Gisborne and the Sheriff in the fullest sense.  He needed time to find out.

“Yes, well.  The Sheriff decided I was more trustworthy than Guy.  Since I’m not letting a woman stand in the way of obeying orders.”

Robin proceeded with caution, stepping closer to Allan and speaking in a lower tone.  “What is standing in the way?”

“Nothing right now.  I am here on the Sheriff’s orders.  He wants me to tell the king that we refuse to surrender, and hopes that I’ll play on our old relationship to tell you about the tunnel.”

“Oh, the tunnel.  Marian told me about that.”

Allan’s face softened in relief.  “That’s good.  I’m glad she told you.  However angry you may be with her, I hope you know she wants you safe.  The tunnel is a perfectly safe way into the castle.”

Robin gaped in surprise.  “How do you know I’m angry with Marian?”

Allan looked away and took the opportunity of dismounting from his horse, probably the hide anxiety Robin had seen flit across his face.

“I . . . took her back to Locksley yesterday morning.  I went there first and Edith told me where she was.  I thought she would be more comfortable in familiar surroundings.”

“Thank you, Allan,” Robin replied, surprised at how touched he was.  It was clear that Allan had spent a lot of time with Marian while he was away, and that he cared about her.

Allan wanted to go directly to the king, and Robin accompanied him, getting more particulars about the plan so that he could introduce him.  Allan was obviously nervous, and he did what he could to reassure him.

“Just be honest and straightforward, Allan.  He respects that.”

* * *

Altogether, he had done well, apart from the moment when Robin had to step closer to him and offer a quiet reminder to address the king as “Your Majesty.” Allan had turned to him with gratitude written all over his face before he went on.

When he had concluded, King Richard turned his attention to Robin.

“Is this not the man who betrayed you? Who sold your secrets to your enemies? Do you think we should trust him?”

Robin considered his response carefully.  “It’s true, Your Majesty.  He did betray me, but I believe he has repented.  He worked as my spy at the castle for some months before I came to you, and he proved faithful then.  I trust him.”

The king nodded, turning back to Allan

“You’ve tested this tunnel to make sure it is safe?”

“Yes my . . . I mean Your Majesty. The men in my private guard spent the better part of last night sweeping out all of the authentic black powder and replacing it with the counterfeit.  And I have been through it with a torch twice myself.”

“You trust your private guard that much?” the king asked with surprise.

“I do, Your Majesty.  What harm they’ve done has only been under the Sheriff’s orders.”

“And Gisborne’s,” Robin mumbled, only loud enough to be heard by Allan.

Allan glanced sideways at him.  “Who was under the Sheriff’s orders,” he hissed quietly.

“Very well,” the king said, drawing their attention back to him.  “I will send an attachment of my men to check the tunnel with you.  If all is as you say, we will bring you back here and keep both you and the tunnel under observation until we attack tomorrow.”

“I understand, Your Majesty.”

To Robin’s relief, Allan did not ask what would happen if all were not as he said; the answer would hardly calm his nerves.

“I’ll go with him,” Robin offered.

* * *

They waiting for the cover of darkness to ride to the castle.  On the way, Robin brought his horse close to Allan’s.

“That really is the smallest horse I’ve ever seen in England; where did you get him?”

Allan looked at him uncertainly for a moment.  “He was a gift.”

“Oh? From the Sheriff?”

His brow furrowing in annoyance, Allan replied in the negative with a shake of his head.  Then his face softened and he looked forward again.  “He did give me Knighton Hall, though.”

“He what!”

“Calm down, Robin,” Allan pleaded.  “It’s not as if I asked for it, you know?  Sir Edward was dead; Vaisey wanted a way to humiliate Marian.  It was out of my hands. What was I supposed to do, say no?”

“Well,” Robin began after some consideration.  “I suppose you didn’t have much choice. What did Marian think of it?”

“She didn’t like it much, of course,” Allan said with a shrug.  “But she didn’t blame me either.”

Robin nodded with satisfaction. “Did you spend much time at Locksley while I was away?”

Allan heaved a sigh of exasperation.  “Look, Robin.  There’s nothing I can add to what Marian has told you, alright? Yes, I was there a lot, but I was with Guy mostly.”

“Okay, easy now,” Robin reassured him. “I’m not going to interrogate you about it.  You just . . . seem to care for her.  Maybe more than you used to.”

Allan looked at him for a long time without answering.  Robin half expected him to urge his horse forward, if he could speed past Robin’s tall white charger on those short legs, to end the conversation. But he remained where he was.

“There was never any need for me to take care of her, Robin.  She was as well taken care of as anyone possible could be.” And then he hesitated again.  “In spite of your not being there,” he concluded finally.

Robin sighed with exasperation.  “Well, I’m back now.”

Allan turned his head to consider him with a critical expression again.  “Yeah, you are.  That doesn’t change the last seven months, though.”

For the first time, Robin felt a pang of guilt.  Marian knew that he had to go; he was certain she had thought his reasons just.  But Allan was right.  She had been under a great deal of stress, and he hadn’t been there to help her.  It didn’t excuse what she had done, of course.  But she couldn’t have been thinking clearly.

He didn’t know if Allan would answer his question, but he felt he had to try anyway. “Alright, just one more thing . . . do you . . . do you think Marian wants to raise this child with . . . him?”

Allan sighed and turned his face up to the heavens in a gesture that Robin found disturbingly familiar.  He had seen Gisborne do it many times during the Sheriff’s public speeches in the past.

“You really need to ask her that,” he replied, and for a few seconds Robin thought that was the end of it.  But then he continued.

“Guy told me that she said, if the baby is a boy, she wants to name him Malcolm.  This was only a few weeks ago. What does that tell you?”

Robin’s mouth fell open, and yet he found himself speechless. It was a small detail, nothing to get too excited about, but it was the best news he had heard since he learned of her pregnancy.

“Look, we’re getting close to the castle, Robin.  I had better ride ahead and tell the men what’s happening.  They knew I was coming to tell the king about the tunnel, but not that I’m bringing his men with me.” And he sped his horse into a canter.

It was just as well; he had everything he needed from him.  Marian obviously wanted people to know who the child’s father really was, whether he returned or not! But now he had returned.  She had made a horrible mistake, but he could forgive her and, in time, they could be as happy as they had been before he left. He just had to keep Gisborne away from her.

 Several times since his return to Nottingham, he had wondered where his old enemy was.  He certainly hadn’t been at Locksley; someone must have warned him in advance.  But now he knew that Knighton was in Allan’s keeping, however temporarily.  That had to mean Gisborne was there.  When they returned to camp, he would notify the king.  He would certainly be interested to know where his almost-assassin was hiding out.


	40. Shirts

Guy said goodbye to Allan in the morning, and did his best to put on a brave face.

“This must be how wives feel when their husbands go into battle,” he speculated with a smirk.

Allan gave him a lopsided grin in return.  “I never knew you saw yourself as my wife, Giz. I’m . . . touched!”

Guy scoffed.  “Well, you come back and we’ll forget all about it.  Just . . . please take care of yourself.”

Allan stretched up on the tips of his toes to kiss him, pressing his back against the bedroom door.

“I will, Giz.  If all goes as planned, the Sheriff is going to be sorry.  For everything he’s done. For deciding to hurt someone I love.”

Guy felt his heart warm at the words; he didn’t know what to say.  Allan had never said that he loved him before, though he had certainly shown it in innumerable ways.  He felt the tears start to well up in his eyes, but was determined not to cry in front of his lover again.  He had already seen enough of that over the past few days.

“I know you . . . you’re still angry about your brother.”

Allan chuckled softly and shook his head before pulling Guy into a hug.  With his head lying against his shoulder, he peered up at him.

“I did love Tom, Giz.  And I am still angry about him.  But that’s not who I meant, and I think you know that.”

Guy bit down on his lip hard, but even that couldn’t stop his sniffles.  “I . . . I love you too, pet,” he mumbled, barely audible.

Allan only squeezed him tighter.  The he stepped away, taking pity on Guy by averting his eyes for a moment, allowing him to compose himself.

“Listen to me, Giz.  You be careful too.  If you see Robin, remember what I said.”

He sighed. “I know.  Don’t provoke him.  If he wants to take me, go quietly and don’t struggle.  And it’s probably best if I don’t talk to him at all.”

“That’s good.  Now . . . you remember that.”

Guy could hear the emotion in Allan’s voice too.  He doubted that anything he did or didn’t do would stop Robin from arresting him, or outright killing him, if that was what he had decided.  He remembered what had happened after he announced his engagement to Marian, even if his lover did not. But it wouldn’t help Allan to hear that; it would only make it harder for him to leave.

He leaned down to kiss him again, pulling back with a loud sniff.  He could feel a tear dampening his cheek already.

“You had better go, I think,” he whispered.

Allan reached up to cup his face and brought him down for one more kiss.  Then he turned and left without another word. Guy watched from the window as Goat trotted off with Allan on his back until they disappeared under the cover of the trees, his tears falling freely.

* * *

Guy tried to go back to sleep, but it was useless.  He had slept so much over the past three days that his body was no longer tired, but his mind was too active to relax.  He had been better with Allan there, reassuring him that his plan would succeed and that Marian was well.  He was glad of that, regardless of what happened to him.

Now, with Allan’s comfort gone, he felt stupid for thinking the happiness he had finally found at Locksley could last.  Of course Marian would want to raise the child with Robin.  Not only was he the father, but he was on the winning side.  The Black Knights’ best hope had always been in keeping King Richard from returning, and they had failed in that.  It was inevitable that he would take back England from his brother; it was only a matter of time.  And then how would any of them escape justice?

They had rarely discussed what would happen to Guy if Robin returned.  He knew that Marian was angry about his not telling the peasants at Locksley that he had helped him, but that had never surprised him.  It was important to Robin that _he_ be the hero, and that meant someone had to be the villain. 

There had never been any love to lose between himself and the people serving the manor.  It had been because of the things the Sheriff commanded him to do in part, but he always felt that it was also because of their faith in Robin’s return.  They had never viewed him as anything but a usurper.  So, it amused him that Robin felt he needed to withhold anything from them to keep them thinking of him as an agent of pure evil.

Perhaps it wasn’t about the villagers; maybe his reasons were more personal. A hero didn’t need help from his enemies.  He barely needed help from his friends. He reflected that all the information he had given Robin had gone through Allan.  And Allan was the architect of the tunnel plan. Robin couldn’t deny how helpful he had been, because he knew nothing of it that Allan had not told him.  He only hoped Robin’s grudge against him for betraying the gang wouldn’t prevent him from encouraging the king to listen to him.

Just after midday, he decided to go back to the kitchen in search of food. The kitchen maid eyed him warily, but spoke to him with less anxiety than she had the previous day.

“Can I get something for you, my lord?”

“Just some stew and bread, if there is any,” he answered, seating himself at the table.

She remained silent as she prepared his plate, and he thought she was not going to speak at all. It was just as well; he was in no mood for small talk either.

But when she brought his plate, she stood next to him for a little while, considering.

“My lord, did Sir . . . I mean, did Allan leave to see the king?”

Guy bit back a smile at that.  Allan had told him the servants at Knighton often gave him a title.  He had found it hilarious from the beginning, although Guy had worried at first that they were insulting him for his low birth.  But then he had seen it himself, and realized that there was no disrespect meant.  They were simply so used to serving knights and ladies of rank that it had been a difficult habit to break.  Allan always treated them with courtesy and respect, just as Marian had.  They had no reason to insult him.

“Yes, he left this morning.”

She fidgeted for a moment longer before returning to her work.  When he got up to go back to the bedroom, though, she spoke again.

“I hope . . . I hope everything turns out alright . . . with the plan.

For a moment, Guy simply looked at her.  He wanted to ask what she knew about it, and who told her.  Allan got along well with Knighton’s servants, but he didn’t think he would share such sensitive information with them.  But why did it matter? She would not be saying this to him if she were a threat.

“So do I,” he said, and left.

* * *

He had no more luck sleeping than he had before.  Trying to puzzle out how the kitchen maid knew about the tunnel, he could only guess that perhaps Marian had communicated that information to them indirectly. She had been very interested in the plan for the purposes of explaining to any workers who might ask her that they would not be harming the king but helping them.  Marian, who was so kind and yet so stealthy; he really shouldn’t be surprised. 

He looked up at the ceiling sadly, exhaling with frustration. He had wanted so much to take care of her, and now he had only gotten her into more trouble.  Was Robin angry enough to no longer want to marry her? What would become of her and the baby if that were the case? He wondered if she would plead with Robin for him, or be silent for fear of his reprisals.  Then he reproached himself for doubting her.  If she was only interested in protecting herself and the baby, she would never have said anything that would provoke Robin’s anger in the first place. No, the better thing to hope for was that she would not urge his cause too strongly.

If Robin was coming to arrest him, knowing what he knew now, Guy could not believe it was for any reason other than what he had done with Marian. If he were ready to give Allan all the credit for the information about the Black Knights’ plans, he would almost certainly give Guy most of the credit for Marian’s infidelity.  He have a bitter snort at that.  Robin ought to have known that she was an adulteress; he made her one! Marian was his wife when the child was conceived.  In the eyes of anyone besides Robin of Locksley, that was the true adultery. Did Robin think love made that acceptable? Probably. But would he think love made Marian’s affair with his enemy acceptable? It wasn’t likely.

And yet he could say nothing; he could make no argument.  The more he riled Robin, the more likely he was to end up dead.  And then he would never know if she and Robin got married.  He would never know if she survived the birth of her child, or what she decided to call her. Otherwise, it might be worth it.  Being killed by Robin in a fit of rage would surely be better than a public hanging or beheading.

His thoughts continued along these lines until he heard the sound of several horses outside his window.  He got up to look out and saw a group of knights advancing, led by a slight man on a tall white horse.  “Fuck,” he thought to himself. “He’s come.”

He knew that he had a few moments to prepare himself, but no idea what to do.  Quickly glancing at himself in the mirror, he noticed that he looked a little less disheveled than he had he day before.  It was a good thing he let Allan talk him into that bath the previous night; he only wished he had felt like giving him more.  At the very least, he could change into a warmer shirt. It was bound to be chilly and damp in the dungeon, if he was lucky enough to get that far.

He rifled through Allan’s trunk, searching for any garment that would fit him. Near the top, he found one that looked familiar.  It was the dark grey shirt Marian had sewn for him while Allan was in London all those months ago.  Hurriedly, he stood and pulled off the black undershirt he was wearing, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror again.

He stood up straight, facing himself.  The last time he saw Robin, he had at least been in fighting shape.  He was spending most of his nights at the castle then, and the castle provided nearly endless opportunities for exercise: chasing after the Sheriff or doing his bidding—that hateful little man with the boundless energy—or drilling his guards.  Since living with Marian and Allan at Locksley and Knighton, he had certainly lost condition. He even thought he saw the beginnings of a paunch on his belly. Apparently, being loved and cared for all these months had literally made him soft.  He hung his head; how was he going to survive this meeting even if Robin didn’t kill him?

There was no time to worry about that.  He picked up the grey shirt and was about to slip it over his head when something else caught his eye. It was the shirt Allan had slept in the night before.  He always left it lying on the bed, which vexed Guy because, if the maid were in a rush, she often made the bed up over it, then Allan had to pull it apart in order to find it before they could sleep.  “Why don’t you just lay it over your trunk like a normal person, Allan?” he often asked.  Today, though, he was not sorry.  The shirt was roomy on Allan, but it was just the right size to go under Guy’s shirt.  And it still smelled of him.  Quickly, he pulled on the night shirt, then the grey one, and stepped into his boots.  He lost no time in getting downstairs.  There would be no need for Robin to come looking for him.

He was outside just in time to see Robin ride up to the door.  He took in the light of the descending sun reflecting off of his armor as he sat proudly atop his white horse, looking every inch the hero he no doubt thought he was.

“Guy of Gisborne,” he intoned, “in the name of His Majesty King Richard, I hereby place you under arrest for treason and attempted regicide.”

“Of course you do,” Guy thought bitterly, but he said nothing.

As one of Robin’s knights dismounted and roughly bound Guy’s wrists in front of him,   the white charger took a few steps towards him. 

“Are you surprised to see me?” Robin asked with a grin.

Guy smirked up at him, deciding to let himself speak. “I’m only surprised that it took you this long.”

* * *

After Robin answered his inquiry about Marian with a punch in the face, Guy refrained from further remarks.  It was occupying most of his mental energy just to stay on the horse.  He was a tall, high-strung animal, and Guy had only limited control over him with his bound hands.  And he was having to lean over his withers to spit out the blood from a cut that was still filling his mouth. He was only glad that Robin’s men had not put him on his own horse. She had been his only mount for the past two years, and it was entirely possible that Robin would know her by sight.  And it was unlikely he would ever see her again if they found her.  His heart sank at the next thought; it was unlikely _he_ would see her again in any event.

But Robin’s arrival at the very least meant that their goal had been accomplished.  The king’s men would not have time to punish criminals for crimes that were years old otherwise. He hoped there had been no Nottingham casualties, but he didn’t dare ask.

He didn’t have to.  Just as they entered the courtyard, he saw the person whose survival of the tunnel attack mattered most to him.

“Guy!” Allan cried out as he ran towards them.

Guy took one look at his horrified face and turned his head, nearly overcome with feeling.  He and Allan had had such a lovely goodbye that morning; he didn’t want his lover to remember him like this.

“Guy, look at me,” he pleaded.

After obeying, Guy immediately wished he hadn’t.  Allan’s face reddened with rage.

“Did you hit him?” he shouted at Robin.

“How dare you!” one of the knights snarled.  “That’s the Earl of Huntingdon you’re addressing.”

“Fuck you,” snapped Allan.  “I know who he is.  And better than you do.”

Robin silenced the knight with a wave of his hand before he could make a further retort. “I have no time for this, Allan.  I’m acting under the king’s orders.”

Allan stepped closer to Robin’s horse, but Guy could still hear him hiss “What did you tell him to make him give those orders?”

Robin made no reply, but motioned his men to move on.  Allan rushed to Guy and raised a hand to clasp his knee.

“Don’t worry, Giz.  I’ll get you out.  I promise you I won’t let them kill you.  Do you hear me?”

It was all Guy could do just to nod, and it was only for Allan’s benefit.  He couldn’t help him; it was unlikely that anyone could.  He was biting his lip so hard that it was bleeding too, determined not to give Robin the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

* * *

When they arrived at the castle, the knights hauled Guy off of his horse and all but dragged him down the steps to the dungeon. He offered no resistance; it would be a relief to be alone again so that he could, hopefully discreetly, unleash the tears he had been holding back.

The jailer closed the barred door behind him and ordered him to turn around so he could remove the rope from his wrists. The dungeon was dark, but less damp than he’d expected; though he had been in it many times, he had never really paid attention before. The only closest occupant to him was in the next cell, and he could only see his black cloak pulled over his head.

He sat down and with his back against the wall and sighed.  “Fucking Hood,” he muttered to himself. His words must have been louder than he intended, for the man next to him stirred, turned, and started to remove his hood.

“Indeed,” purred a familiar sing-song voice.  “I’ve been expecting you.  Haven’t seen you in while, Gizzy! Please do catch me up on all the news!”

No, Guy thought internally. It couldn’t possibly be. But it was. Slowly he turned to see Vaisey’s beaming, malevolent face looking back at him.

 


	41. Marian's Requests

Robin had been surprised by how docile Guy was during his apprehension.  If he was honest, it was a little disappointing.  If Guy had been belligerent and violent, he himself would have had cause to express the violence he felt.  He wanted to attack Guy, to insult him, to injure him further.  But how could he do that to a man who refused to speak except in answer to a question and obeyed all of his orders?

His inquiry about Marian had been just the provocation he needed, and it had certainly felt satisfying to connect his knuckles with his enemy’s mouth.  But once his rage had subsided, so did the pleasure.  To his subordinates, hitting a man who was unable to defend himself, just for asking if he had seen a woman, might look dishonorable.  But of course they did not know Gisborne as he did.

One of the first things Robin had done when the castle had been taken and the Sheriff arrested was to free the prisoners kept on unjust charges.  Unsurprisingly, it had turned out to be most of them.  These had been replaced by the handful of guards who had not surrendered immediately or been killed, and some men that Robin remembered as having engaged in unscrupulous trade had remained.  Vaisey had likely only imprisoned them in order to keep on fairly good terms with the local gentry.  When he placed Guy in the cell next to Vaisey, he hadn’t given it much thought.  After all, he had chosen to be with him while he was free; didn’t he deserve to be imprisoned with him?

But as he rode to Locksley after the king had dismissed him for the night, he began to have some misgivings. Had not Eleri, Allan, and Marian all told him that Guy had broken with the Sheriff? Of course, Allan was biased on that score as, unfortunately, was Marian, but the peasant woman? She certainly had no reason to lie to protect Gisborne.  After the ordeal with her mother’s necklace, she had every reason to want to see justice served upon him.  But the king had said he would remain in Nottingham for at least two days to put things in order at the castle.  That was plenty of time for him to investigate the truth, and submit his findings to the king.

He decided not to say a word about Gisborne to Marian.  If she was still angry over what he had said on his first night back, to bring up his imprisonment of her lover—how it pained him to even think that word in connection with him!—it would only upset her further. It might even put her health, and that of the child, at risk, just as Matilda had warned.  Though it was hard, he tried not to judge her too harshly.  Had she not said that she would lose her mind if he left her too, so shortly after her father’s death? Apparently, that was just what had happened, and she would need patience.  He would not force an apology from her.  Now that peace and justice had been restored to Nottingham, there would be plenty of time for that.

Marian met him at the door, as had always been her habit before he had left.  He thought she looked tired and anxious, but at least there was nothing hostile in her appearance.

“Is it done? Have you taken the castle?” she asked softly.

“Yes. It’s done.”

She gave him a relieved smile and invited him in in.

All the servants stopped their work to come into the hall and hear Robin’s account of the fall of Nottingham castle, surprised and impressed that the king’s army had suffered no loss of life.  Indeed, thanks to the tunnel, there had been very few casualties at all.  Eventually, Edith had to excuse herself with regret, explaining that she had to finish preparing dinner, and getting Robin’s promise that he would catch her up on the story later.  Finally, when the servants had gone back to their work, he and Marian were able to sit down alone together at the dining table. John and Much had remained at the castle in order to acquaint the king’s advisors with it; Robin knew that he needed to see Marian alone.

At first, they talked about Allan mostly.  When Robin told his account to the servants, he gave Allan credit but gave most of the attention to the army and the king as the heroes of the story.

“Was the king pleased with Allan?” she asked.

“Oh, yes.  Very.  He was so impressed he even mentioned knighthood when Allan reported to him after the castle was taken.”

“Knighthood!” she cried.  “What did Allan say?”

“Well, he didn’t say very much.  I think he was shocked into silence.  The king and I had been discussing the position of Sheriff, and I have to say that Allan did have some presence of mind then. At least enough to shake his head when I looked in his direction.”

Marian laughed at that.  “I would imagine so! Poor Allan.  He hated working for the Sheriff so much; I can’t imagine he’d want to take his place! But do you think knighthood is likely?”

Robin considered that.  “I don’t think it’s unlikely.  It’s certain that it would not have been nearly as easy for us to take the castle without this tunnel plan he devised.  And he told us that the tunnel’s architect returned to Italy with no small amount of the Sheriff’s money in his pocket some weeks ago, so we can’t credit him.”

She smiled.  “Well it would certainly be a relief to the servants at Knighton for him to be made a knight.  The poor dears have been calling him ‘Sir Allan’ by force of habit these past five months!”

At the mention of Knighton, Robin shifted nervously. “The . . . ah . . . king did mention that a knighthood would be in order if Allan is to keep possession of the hall.  I wasn’t sure how you would feel about that.  I can certainly try to persuade him against it, if you like.”

For a moment, she did not speak, instead glancing at him out of the corners of her eyes.

“Robin, the only reason I would be against Allan keeping Knighton would be if I needed to live there myself.  That is not my preference, but of course, Locksley is your home.  It will be your decision whether I remain here or not.”

Her speech surprised Robin.  Did she really think that he would force her back to her old home? “Marian, I . . . I would not dream of making you leave Locksley! Now while you’re carrying my child; how unchivalrous would I be?”

Marian looked down at her belly.  “I’m not going to be carrying your child for very much longer, Robin.  Matilda says that she . . . that the baby will be born within the next three weeks.”

Her nerves were evident in her voice, but Robin wasn’t sure if she was worried about giving birth or about the possibility of his rejecting her.  He was certain that Matilda had not told her what he’d said about taking the baby, not after she told him how much it would upset her.  But perhaps she guessed that he had thought about it on her own.

He reached for her hand, exhaling with relief when she let him take it.  “Marian, I . . . I still can’t understand why you did . . . what you did.  But . . . I still love you.  I still want to marry you and raise your child together.  Boy or girl.”.

She gave a little smile and squeezed his hand.  Then she glanced away.  “Robin, I want to say that I’m . . . I’m sorry that what I did hurt you.  It was never my intention to hurt you.”

Robin sighed, his heart warming in spite of the skepticism in his mind.  It wasn’t perfect.  It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear, but it was a start.

“Do you still want to marry me, my love?” he asked.

This time, Marian looked into his eyes.  “Yes, I do.”

This time, he exhaled audibly, giving her a smile.

“But . . . I’m not ready to discuss a wedding yet, Robin.  I know . . . it will have to be soon.  I just . . . I’d like to take things as slow as we can.  Matilda says I need to avoid excitement.”

He nodded with enthusiasm. “Yes, she told me that too, that’s fine.”

She gave him a little smile and started to look away, but then Robin lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to it.

“I’m sorry too, my love.  I wish I hadn’t had to leave you, to spend so many months away.”

She didn’t reply right away, and he began to worry that he had overtired her already.  He was just about to excuse himself from the table when she spoke.

“I know that you had to leave, Robin.  Of course you had to try to rescue the king; it was never about that. But . . .”

She paused, as though uncertain how to continue.  He wondered what she might be thinking.  He knew how much Marian hated repeating arguments; she must be weighing in her mind what had already been said, what was worthwhile to say again.  She sighed with aggravation.

“Seven months is a long time to be gone, Robin.  It would take a toll on any relationship.  Especially with the . . . other factors.”

He released her hand, lifting his own to rub over his face. “I know that you had a very hard time of it, Marian.  I really do.  But please remember that I didn’t know that you were pregnant.”

She stared at him.  “I know you didn’t.  And even if I was in ignorance of that fact, there were plenty of people to remind me of that.  Matilda, Eleri . . . Guy.”

Robin lifted his head at the last word.  Had he somehow misheard what she was saying? Surely Gisborne was the last person who would ever defend him.

Marian jolted him out of these thoughts when she suddenly asked, “Why were you gone so long? We got the letter about the death of Winchester and his henchmen in October! It’s almost April now.”

He was afraid this would come up.  It pained him to tell Marian things that might make her sorry for her loyalty to the king, but he knew better than to try to answer this question untruthfully or dismissively.  Marian would know.

“The truth, my love, is that I wasn’t certain if the king would return to England if I did not stay.”

Her eyebrows quirked with interest.  It was the first thing he had ever said to her that was critical of the king.

“You see, Marian, he had been in the Holy Land for a very long time.  Much longer than I was.  And he has, I have to say, more of an appetite for the . . . martial life than I ever did.  Of course he wanted peace, but . . . I felt he needed someone with him who has seen the injustices here: someone whom he trusted to always tell him the truth, and never exaggerate how dire the situation is.  Frankly I . . . I wouldn’t trust anyone else to keep his mind focused where it needs to be.  Here in England.”

Marian looked at him with furrowed brows, but her emotions were opaque to him.  Did she believe him? Did she believe he _was_ exaggerating? Finally, he grew nervous waiting.

“But I’m back now.”

She gave him a smile and a nod.  “Yes, you are.”

Then she turned her head in the direction of the door as someone knocked.

“I’ll get that, my love.  No need for you to get up,” he said as he rose.

The door opened to reveal Allan a Dale, his face flushed with anger and his eyes hard.

“Marian,” he called out, looking past Robin.

“You’re calling a little late, Allan,” Robin growled softly, hoping to at least put him on his guard.  It was to no avail.

“I know what time it is, Robin,” he answered coldly.  “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have important information for her.”

Robin hoped to dissuade him in some other way, but when he heard Marian’s soft footfalls behind him, he realized that it was too late.

“What is it, Allan?” she asked, her voice tight with nerves.

Allan looked past Robin as though he wasn’t there.

“Guy is in the dungeon, Marian.  I just saw him there.”

Robin heard her gasp and watched as she raised a hand to her mouth in shock.  Anger surged through him.  Of course, he meant to tell Marian, but in his own time.  He wanted to wait a few days, to see how long it would take for her to ask about Gisborne.  If she did at all.  Now, Allan had ruined not only his plans but probably also the fragile reconciliation they had been working towards.

“How . . . how did this happen?” she whispered.

Allan jerked his head over his shoulder abruptly.  “Ask him.”

Robin’s mind raced.  He had assumed he and Marian would be alone that night at least; he hadn’t even had a chance to think about what he would say to her about Gisborne.

Marian walked past Allan to stand in front of him.  “Tell me,” she said softly.

Robin sighed and rolled his eyes in exasperation; he really was left with no choice to be as straightforward and honest as he could.  Especially now with Allan standing by, no doubt ready to contradict him.

“I arrested him this afternoon and took him to the dungeon.”

She pressed her lips into a hard line.  “On what charges?” she asked tersely.

He gaped for a moment.  Apparently the madness that had motivated her infidelity had affected her memory as well.

“He tried to kill the king, Marian! Or had you forgotten that? I arrested him for treason and attempted regicide.”

Allan scoffed loudly, and they both turned to stare at him. He glanced back and forth between them before saying, “Look, I’m not being funny, but Guy sleeping with Marian, is not treason! No matter how much it upsets you. Besides, Robin, if _your_ memory was reliable, you’ll recall that he was married to her, as far as he knew, at the time.”

“It’s not about that, Allan,” Robin snapped.  “It is treason to conspire with the king’s enemies for his overthrow.  And he did more than that! He tried to kill the king himself!”

“Yeah, nearly three years ago!” Allan retorted sharply.  Then he lowered his voice, speaking more calmly. “Who was he conspiring with when he helped me steal the letter that you had to see before you would leave to go and rescue the king? Or have you forgotten about that?”

Robin simply glared at him, making no reply.  He remembered Allan telling him about Gisborne’s help, but he certainly never would have acted against the Sheriff on his own.  That was not a sufficient proof of repentance.

“Oh, I see,” Allan continued with a sneer. “I’d wager that you can remember every single unscrupulous thing Guy has done since your return.  You have exact figures on every peasant he’s harmed, every threat he’s made, and every time he’s tried to kill you.  But he does something that shows how he’s trying to change, and all of sudden your memory gets foggy.”

“Allan,” Marian interrupted, going to him and laying a hand on his arm. He turned his attention from Robin to her.

“You said you saw him tonight.  How did he look?”

Allan shrugged and then looked away, as though he was trying to hide something from her.  But when he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion.  “He looked . . . scared, Marian,” he said softly.  “He . . . he told me not to come to see him again, that he doesn’t want me to see him . . . like that. He thinks he’s going to die.  I mean . . . wouldn’t you?”

She nodded, putting her hand on his shoulder and tightening her fingers on it.  Robin could just barely hear her say, “thank you for coming to let me know.  I’ll do everything I can.”

Robin stepped forward.  “Marian, I . . .”

She held her palm out to stop him.  “Just . . . please give me a moment, Robin.  I . . . I need to think.  Perhaps you can see Allan out?”

It was the last thing Robin wanted to do.  Had he not helped Allan navigate his dealings with the king? To be betrayed by him in this way now had him tightening his fists in anger.  But a fight with Allan would be guaranteed to upset Marian, so he resolved to remain calm.

As soon as they were on the other side of the door, though, he turned to Allan.  “What were you thinking,” he hissed. “Coming to upset her like that!”

Allan turned and regarded him coldly.  “What do you think would really upset her more, Robin? My telling her that Guy is in the dungeon or you putting him there? If I wanted to upset her, I would have told her that you punched him in the face, probably while he was bound, and that you put him the cell next to the Sheriff!”

Robin inhaled deeply.  Perhaps that was a bit harsh, but he wasn’t going to give Allan the satisfaction of telling him so.

“Why did you have to come tonight?” he asked, almost more to himself than to Allan.

Allan shook his head and looked out into the darkness.  “Because if there is anyone who can make you look past your self-righteous, self-serving principles, it’s her.  And, whether you believe it or not, she would want to know about Guy as soon as possible.”

He left without another word or another look at Robin.  Robin remained outside for a moment longer.  He didn’t want to leave; he had already been away from Locksley for far too long.  But he wasn’t sure he was ready to face Marian after her discovery either.

* * *

Marian was almost beside herself.  As soon as Robin and Allan were gone, she all but collapsed into her chair by the fire.  She had felt exhausted constantly for the past month, but this new knowledge had made her feel incalculably worse.

She reproached herself for her stupidity.  When Allan told her of Robin’s eminent return, she had been worried for Guy, even more than for herself.  And yet she had been so very certain that Guy would be alright if he just stayed out of Robin’s way. She never dreamed that Robin would go looking for him after the help he had given before his departure for the Holy Land.

But now she realized.  Of course his jealously would overpower his judgement; it had happened before.  She recalled the afternoon after Guy had announced their engagement.  Robin had taken her engagement ring, and Guy had ridden off into the woods after him to retrieve it. At the time, she had been so worried about Robin that she returned immediately to Knighton, hoping that his gang would know to find her there in case anything terrible had befallen him. But when Much had arrived, so out of breath that he could barely speak, to let her know that Robin was torturing Guy because he believed he had tried to kill the king, her loathing for the latter man had vanished for a moment.  Even if he was guilty, what could Robin possibly have to gain by torturing him? The thought turned her stomach even now.

Robin returned then, and she was out of time.  For a few seconds, she regarded him in silence.  He looked so concerned for her, but she wondered if that was all he felt.

“I’m sorry about that, Marian.”

She could feel her fingers tightening on the arms of her chair. “Sorry for what, Robin?” she inquired.  “Are you sorry that Allan came, or that he told me what you’ve done?”

Robin came to stand in front of the fireplace, rubbing a hand over his hair and the back of his neck nervously.

“I’m sorry that you were upset,” he said finally, looking away.

She leaned back in her chair.  “I have no choice but to be upset, Robin.  When were you planning on telling me about this?”

He shrugged.  “I hadn’t decided yet; I haven’t had time! A few days.”

Marian took a deep breath.  She wanted to shout at him, to force him to understand how deplorable what he had done was.  But that would not convince him, and she would likely only harm herself.

“Robin,” she went on, fighting to keep her tone even.  “A few days would not have made any difference as far as my being upset.  Allan was right to come; it’s best I know now. Did the king order you to arrest Guy?”

He looked at her as if she had lost her mind.  “Of course he did! He knows that Gisborne is the man who stabbed me and tried to kill him!”

She bit back a retort and inhaled deeply once more.  “Well, then . . . he only knows part of the story.  Of course he would want Guy executed knowing that, but would he if he knew that Guy was part of the reason why you were able to warn him of the coming regicide attempt in time?”

Robin considered for a moment, then shrugged again.

“Why don’t we let the king make that decision?” she asked.  “Acquaint him with Guy’s cooperation with you, and his defiance of the Sheriff. You know that it’s the right thing to do.”

He sighed.  “Listen, Marian. All I know is that I asked Allan to get the letter, and he did.  I don’t know any of the particulars.”

Because you didn’t want to know, Marian thought to herself, but she knew it would not help to say it out loud. “That’s alright, I’m certain that Allan would be more than happy to fill you in.  Or, better yet, he could tell the king himself.”

She looked up at him, waiting patiently.  Robin looked positively miserable; he was pacing in front of the fire, occasionally looking at her with a mixture of disappointment dread.  No doubt, she thought, he’s wondering if I’ll have another fit if he says no.

“Robin,” she said, breaking the silence finally. “Do you remember what I said when you asked me why I was telling you about how good Guy had been to me in your absence?”

He stopped pacing to stare at her.  “Yes, I remember.  But I also knew you were . . . fatigued.  You had been under a lot of strain, and it must have been hard for you to . . . see me again, so suddenly, after I had been gone for so long.”

She cocked her head to the side.  “And?”

He exhaled with frustration, as though his words would not form in the way he wanted them to.

“I thought you were exaggerating . . . that you were speaking from emotion, not being rational.”

Marian felt her face grow hot.  She knew she could not bear this conversation much longer.

“You thought I was mad, so you decided not to listen.  Goodnight, Robin,” she concluded sullenly.

Concern flooded his face.  “Marian, I . . . I don’t mean that . . . exactly.  I just know that you wouldn’t have done . . . that if I had been here.”

She sighed.  His explanation might have lessened her anger, but it did nothing to help her exhaustion.

“I . . . can’t discuss this anymore tonight, Robin.  Just . . . please tell me you’ll think about taking Allan to see the king.”

He nodded.  “I will do more than think about it, Marian.  You have my word.  I can’t promise that the king will listen, though.”

She gave him a tired smile. “I understand. I don’t ask for assurances.  Only . . . give Allan a fair chance.”

He reassured her that he would. “Is there anything else?” he asked, clearly heartened by her willingness to let the matter drop for the night.

Marian bit her lip nervously, almost afraid to ask.  But she knew she would be reproaching herself all night if she didn’t.

“Please, go down to the dungeon and check on Guy tomorrow.  Allan said he’s been forbidden to go back.  Just . . . let me know if he’s alright.”

Robin’s face tensed with anger so quickly that she was almost certain that he would refuse.  After a few seconds of glaring at her, he gave an exasperated little chuckle.

“If that’s what it takes to keep you tranquil, Marian, I’ll do that too.  Now, I’m going to sleep upstairs.”

As she heard the floor creak under his footsteps, she continued to sit by the fire.  She had not been able to bring herself to sleep upstairs since her return from Matilda’s.  Tonight, it seemed unlikely that she would sleep at all.


	42. Investigation

Often on the voyage home, as he had lain awake in his bunk above Much, Robin had fantasized about spending the night in the master bed at Locksley: his bed.  But he hadn’t enjoyed it as much as he’d expected.  A big part of the reason was that the fantasy had included Marian lying next to him, but instead she was downstairs in the bed Gisborne and Allan had used in his absence.  He tried to suppress the recollection that the former had actually spent most of his nights in the master bed, but without much success. She claimed that the ascent up the stairs was difficult for her, and Robin could well believe that as close to delivery as she was.  But he couldn’t help wondering if there wasn’t a more disturbing reason as well.  Perhaps it was also true that she missed Gisborne so much that she wanted to sleep in a place that still smelled of him, however faintly.  The though made his brain seethe with envy.

At the same time, he knew that Allan was right; Gisborne sleeping with Marian was not treason, as despicable as it was.  Though he was loathe to admit it, his old enemy had cooperated with his efforts, even if it were only by virtue of his silence regarding Marian and Allan’s work as spies.  He didn’t deserve to be executed alongside Vaisey.

King Richard had told him the previous day that he saw no reason to conduct the trials, or the expected executions in Nottingham. Robin heard the news with relief.  There was no lesson to be taught by the Sheriff’s death that the people had not learned by the example of his own cruelty.  There had certainly been enough public executions, with no benefit of trial, during his tenure as the castle’s lord. After some discussion, the king had revealed his plan to send the traitors ahead of him to London, where they would await trial with the others once they had been found.  Therefore, there was less need to rush in obtaining a pardon for Gisborne.  There would be time for that; he just needed to make sure that he remained where he was.  A stint in the dungeon to think about his sins was more in line with what he deserved, Robin decided just as he was falling asleep.

The next morning, Marian got up in time to join him for breakfast.  It was clear from her worn appearance that she had not slept well the night before, but Robin refrained from comment.  He felt sympathy for her, but if she was only going to cite Gisborne as the reason for her distress, he did not want to hear it.  Fortunately, she only had questions about the plans for who would take over the castle. The king had decided to leave one of his advisors to step into the role of sheriff until a more suitable replacement could be found.  Marian mostly remained silent, listening with divided attention.  He could tell there was something she wanted to say, but was holding back.  Finally, just before his departure, it came out.

“Robin, please just . . . be fair to Guy.  That’s all I ask.  Please don’t punish him for what I’ve done.”

He scowled at that.  Whatever she had done, she certainly hadn’t done it alone! Even if it wasn’t Gisborne’s idea, as she’d insisted it wasn’t, he was certain he had been an enthusiastic participant.  But that wasn’t the only reason he wanted him punished.  He had hated him before, and Gisborne had always returned his hatred in full.  The thought of now having to help him was repulsive, but Robin knew he could not reply with that.  What would it accomplish besides making Marian angry?

“I won’t,” he said simply.  “Is there anything else?” he asked, wishing he hadn’t almost as soon as the words were out.”

At first, he thought she would make no reply.  He sighed with relief, and was just about to bid her goodbye for the day when she said, “He is a good man, Robin.  I understand if you don’t believe me, but please talk to other people.  Get their impressions.”

Again, he could think of no reply to that.  It was taking up enough of his time to intercede with the king for Gisborne and go and see him, if he could even make time for that.  Nodding a vague agreement to Marian, he left.

* * *

The meeting Robin scheduled between Allan and the king was brief, but effective.  Allan submitted to being knighted with a gratitude Robin did not expect given how uneasy he had been about it the previous day.  Equally surprising to him had been the way in which Allan painted him as ignorant of Guy’s involvement in getting the letter from the Sheriff. When the king asked, “why did not we hear this information from Robin from the first,” Allan had said.  “Your Majesty, he was so distraught at the news that you were in danger that he wanted to set off immediately.  He wasn’t interested in explanations.” Robin thought that perhaps the king would bring up how unlikely it was that he would forget that the man who tried to kill his monarch had also provided the information that saved him, but he did not.  He seemed too entertained by Allan’s unexpected passion for the matter. At the conclusion of their meeting, he sent a man to the dungeon to retrieve Vaisey and prepare him for departure, leaving Gisborne behind.

Afterwards, Robin had tried to talk to Allan, to congratulate him on his knighthood and thank him for his generous retelling of the letter story, but he refused to oblige him.

“I didn’t do it for you, Robin,” he snapped.  “I would have said anything to save Guy’s life.  Honestly, I would have told him Guy stole the letter by himself if I thought you would let me get away with it!  Now, I’ve done all I can. I have this knighthood and manor, which I never wanted, and I have assurance that Guy will not be executed.  But that’s not good enough, Robin.  He can’t stay in that dungeon! He’ll starve, or become ill and die, and it will be just as much your fault as if his head were mounted on a pike.  You want to make peace with me and Marian? Get him out!”

Robin scoffed at that; he doubted Marian would put it so bluntly.  Of course, that didn’t mean she wasn’t thinking it.  He had been looking forward to going home to tell her what the king had decided; certainly more than he was to actually going to see Gisborne himself in the dungeon.  Now, he wondered if she wouldn’t insist on more effort from him as well.  From Allan, it was unpleasant, but from Marian it would be unbearable.  Well, she had said he should talk to other people about Guy anyway.  She could remain is suspense for a while.

* * *

When he returned to Locksley that afternoon, he immediately sought out Edith.  He had, after all, promised to tell the rest of his story about the castle, which she had missed because she had to work.  Once that was done, he ventured to question her.

“Tell me, Edith, when Gisborne came to live here, what did you make of his behavior? Was he any different than when he lived here before?”

The older woman thought in silence for a moment.  “At first, not really.  He was just as irritable and impatient as ever. But, after a time, he became much . . . gentler. I think he felt more at home here, and he started treating us better.”

“Why do you think that was?”

She looked at him in disbelief, as though the answer were obvious.  “Well, Lady Marian, my lord. He wanted to please her.” The she broke into an unexpected smile.  “I remember one morning, my Ruth came into the kitchen to tell us that the most puzzling thing had happened.  Lady Marian’s hair was in a terrible mess—this was after the Sheriff came and she and Sir Guy had begun sharing the bed—and that it was because he had attempted to braid it!  Well, we all thought Ruth had gone mad at first, but then I talked to Lady Marian, and it was true!” And then she began to laugh out loud.  “He wanted to keep it out of her face when she was sick, and all he could think to do was tie her hair in a knot! But after that he did a much better. She came down most mornings with her hair braided correctly.”

She glanced and Robin, and her face became positively meek as she finished the story, as though she had said something improper.  Robin wondered what expression he had that had spoiled her good humor. He knew he should be glad that Marian had someone to take care of her, but all he could feel was envy.  It should have been him there!

“I’m sorry, my lord,” Edith went on.  “I’m not sure why I told you that story.”

“Oh, there’s no harm in it, Edith,” he reassured her. “How did he treat Ruth after that? Was he angry with her?”

“Oh, no!” Edith cried.  “She had been very frightened of him before.  She’s a shy girl, you know.  But after that, she was never afraid of him again.  And he never gave her reason to be.”

Robin considered that, but decided not to comment on it. He finished the slice of bread Edith had given him, and thanked her, bidding her a good afternoon. He had other people to speak with.

It was his intention to visit Matilda straight away, but on the way to her cottage he met Eleri coming in to give her daughter her afternoon feeding.

“What can I do for you, my lord?” she asked respectfully when he called to her.

“Oh, I won’t delay you,” he insisted.  “I only had a question. Since you arrived here, how has Sir Guy treated you?”

She took her time in answering, and Robin asked himself if she were merely trying to recall or trying to decide which answer would please him best.

“To tell you the truth, my lord, we’ve barely seen him,” she said finally.  “We were up before he was, and by the time we returned from work he and Lady Marian were already having dinner.  She would always come and bid us goodnight, but he never accompanied her.  But none of us ever had a harsh word from him.”

“What about when he came to ask you to stay at Locksley?”

“Well, he just told us that Lady Marian had invited us.  He said nothing of how he felt about it.”

“I see,” Robin replied with a smile.  “So he was just following orders then?”

Eleri quirked her eyebrows at him.  “I don’t know about just following orders, my lord.”

“Oh?” Robin inquired.  “How do you see it?”

She considered.  “Well, I’ll say this much.  Jacob and I have been married for nearly three years.  Sometimes he does what I tell him, sometimes not. But I don’t think he’s ever done anything just because I told him unless he though it was a good idea too. I think . . . maybe that’s how marriage works.  Maybe Sir Guy would never have invited us without her telling him. I don’t know.  But we’re here.  I don’t think we would be if he didn’t want us.”

Robing considered that for so long that Eleri’s expression had grown anxious by the time he looked at her again.

“Thank you, I’m sorry I kept you,” he said cordially.  Assuring her that he intended for her new cottage to be completed the following week, he sent her on her way.

* * *

When he found Matilda, she was preoccupied with hanging her laundry.

“I’m happy to try to answer your questions, Robin, but I may be a little distracted.  These things do pile up when you’re taking care of sick and pregnant people in half the shire!”

“I do understand, Matilda,” he explained.  “This will just take a few minutes.  I just wanted to ask a few questions about Gisborne when he was at Locksley.

He heard the midwife sigh from behind the sheet she was hanging.  When she stepped around it to face him, he could see that her hands were on her hips already.

“Marian can tell you all about that better than I can, Robin.  Why are you asking me?”

The question made him feel sheepish. How could he tell Matilda that he didn’t trust the woman he was going to marry?

After waiting for him to reply, she continued. “Maybe the better question is, why are you asking me this now?”

He exhaled and reached up to rub his neck.  There would be no easy way out of this. “Marian wants me to go and visit Gisborne in the dungeon, and I’m trying to get a sense of who he is now.  Everyone keeps telling me how much he’s changed in these few months I’ve been gone, but I’m suspicious.”

Matilda looked up at him, her brows furrowed.  “Yes, I can see that,” she said with a frown. “I heard about Gisborne being arrested. Also, when you say ‘everyone,’ who do you mean? How many people have you asked these questions?”

“Only Edith and Eleri,” he replied.  Before she could respond to that, he added, “How do you know about Gisborne?”

She tilted her head to the side.  “Well, clearly they didn’t give you the answer you needed, so allow me.  How do I know about Gisborne? Allan a Dale was here yesterday afternoon, and he told me.  He came straight from the castle, with tears still in his eyes.”

“He came to you? Before he told Marian?” Robin gasped.  He never would have imagined that.

She nodded.  “He was so upset, but he didn’t want to tell Marian anything that would upset her and hurt the baby.”

“And you told him to go ahead?” Robin said with a sneer.

“Actually, once he calmed down I told him that Marian would skin him alive if he withheld something like that from her, but more or less,” she replied with a grim smile.

He started to ask another question, but she continued over him. “Allan told me that he thinks your arresting Gisborne has nothing to do with his attempt to kill the king, that it’s just an excuse to get him out of the way and punish him for Marian’s actions. Now, I don’t take his view of things exactly.  I think he’s being too hard on you.  You have a right to be upset and angry, and God knows you need to do something about it.”

“Thank you, Matilda, I . . .”

“Hold on, Robin.  I’m not finished.  But I do think he has a point.  Gisborne has done a lot of evil in the past, that’s true.  But he was here, with the mother of your child, who was grieving for both you and her father, almost every day of the seven months you were gone.  Every day, Robin.  You have the rest of your life to make your absence up to her, and she has the rest of hers to earn your forgiveness.  But nothing is ever going to change the fact that he was here, and you weren’t, or that you owe the sanity of your wife to be and the health of your baby to him.  If indeed she is healthy, but we won’t know until she’s here.”

Robin waited several moments to make sure the speech was over.  When Matilda turned back to her laundry, he turned his horse in the direction of the castle.

“Good day, Matilda,” he said over his shoulder.  “Thank you.  You’ve given me a lot to think about.  I’ll see you soon.”

“Sooner than you may know,” she replied vaguely. He turned on his horse to give her a questioning look.

She smiled at him, gently this time.  “I’m delivering your child, son.  There’s a lot you need to be prepared for.  I’m hoping to come and see you and Marian together tomorrow.”

Robin nodded, half lost in thought, and urged his horse into a trot.  He would not reach the castle before dark, but there was one more person he had to see before Gisborne.

* * *

It didn’t take Robin long to find Much.  When it grew close to nightfall, he always knew where he would be.

“Did you have a good dinner?” he asked with a smile, already knowing the answer.

“Oh, yes! You should have been here! The boar, the pheasant, and there was some kind of pie with fish and . . .”

Robin cut him off before he could list every course. “Listen, Much, I . . . I have to go down to the dungeon and see Gisborne.”

Much was so surprised he almost dropped his knife.  “You . . . what?”

Robin shrugged. “I promised Marian that I would.”

“Well . . . she’s a kind woman,” Much offered.  If only that were the only reason, Robin thought to himself grimly.  He though Much might have figured out the true nature of Marian’s betrayal through John, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit it to him himself.

“Yes” was his only reply.

Much looked down at his half full plate, and then at Robin again. “Do you want me to come with you?”

Robin chuckled.  “He’s behind bars, Much.  I doubt he’ll pose much of a threat.”

“What did Marian want you to tell him?”

Robin stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded.  It hadn’t even occurred to him that Marian might want something specific communicated to Gisborne; he hadn’t even asked her. “She just wanted me to check on him,” he replied lamely.

Much looked back at him in confusion.  “He’s . . . I mean . . . he has water, food.  He’s been spared the Sheriff’s fate, thanks to the king’s order. He’s imprisoned, Robin.  Comfort isn’t really the point.”

“No,” Robin agreed, “but I’ve been talking to people.  People who saw a lot of him and Marian while we were gone.  And some of them think I’ve treated him unfairly.”

“Unfairly!” Much cried, the pitch of his voice raising with outrage.  “How?”

“Well, they say that he did help us before we went to save the king.  And he’s given Marian a lot of help while we’ve been away.  Even she is a little upset with me.”

Robin wondered how much of an understatement that really was for a moment before Much responded.  “But that’s ridiculous! I mean, yes he helped Allan steal the letter.  And if he hadn’t, Allan probably would’ve gotten caught, and we never would have gone and the king would have been killed.  But! Gisborne tried to kill the king, and he has to pay for that.”

Robin frowned.  Somehow, that had sounded so much more logical inside his own head.

“And as for Marian,” his friend continued, “what does she have to be upset with you about? All you did was leave her behind, carrying your child, while we went the Holy Land to save the king and make sure he didn’t change his mind about coming home.  Maybe she and Guy did grow close when he was here, and he took care of her, but that’s no reason to blame you! You didn’t force her to marry him; you just encouraged it.  She should be thankful to you! If you hadn’t encouraged her to marry Gisborne, why, where would she be?”

Robin’s eyes widened in realization.  It was obvious that Much was trying to make him feel better, but it wasn’t really working.  The way he phrased it, it sounded as though he was in part to blame for his whole arrangement.  But maybe he was right.  What would Marian have done if she hadn’t had Gisborne to rely on?

Much kept on. “I suppose I can see why she’s a little upset . . . maybe.  If he’s done such a good job of taking care of her, and you’ve put him in the dungeon.  But now she has you to take care of her! And it’s not as though it’s your fault he’s in there.  The king ordered you to arrest him!”

“Because I only told him that Gisborne tried to kill him, not that he helped Allan get the letter that helped us save him,” Robin admitted softly, more to himself than his companion.

Much have gave him a worried look.  “I’m sorry, Robin.  I know I’m not being very helpful.”

Robin reached out to put a hand on his shoulder.  “That’s not true, Much. You’ve helped me a great deal.  But now . . . I have to go and keep my promise. I’ll see you in the morning”


	43. Penance

Allan was so exhausted from having not slept at all the night before that it was difficult for him to obey the king’s command to “rise” after he was knighted.  True, being on his knees was not the most comfortable position, but it was more relaxing than pacing as he had been doing almost since his discovery that Guy had been taken.

It had been a relief when Robin sent a servant to Knighton for him, summoning him to a meeting with the king that morning.  He had hoped more than believed that it had something to do with Guy, but he determined that he would not let the opportunity pass without bringing up Guy’s possible release.

As it turned out, he hadn’t had to wait for very long.

“It has come to our attention,” the king said, “that you were very upset about the arrest of Guy of Gisborne yesterday, and that you shouted abuse at one of my knights.  Is this true?”

Allan cringed inwardly.  It had occurred to him that yelling “fuck you” at one of the king’s men might have been a mistake, but he couldn’t stop himself.”

“Yes, your majesty.  It’s true.”

“Are you in sympathy with a regicide, then?”

Allan pressed his lips together in silence.  That was a rather damning thing to agree to.  He would have to choose his words carefully.

“I am in sympathy with Guy of Gisborne,” he decided to acknowledge. “And he did admit that he had attempted to kill Your Majesty in Acre three years ago.  But that was one of the conditions Robin specified in accepting Guy’s help.”

When he saw the king’s gaze flash to Robin, he realized this might have been a mistake.  It was clear that this was the first time he had heard of Guy’s helping Robin, but the last thing he wanted was for this meeting to turn into a conflict between Richard and his earl, or worse, the earl and himself! But it was too late to take it back now.

“I had been living at the castle, spying for Robin, when Guy discovered what I was doing.  I was able to convince him to let me continue doing my work, and he even agreed to sharing information with me, to give to Robin, that I might not have gotten otherwise.  But before Robin would accept his help, he demanded that Guy confess, which he did.”

Here, Allan paused, glancing at Robin.  The former outlaw’s face remained neutral, and Allan hoped that was proof that he had a similar memory of events.

“Regicide is a serious crime, Allan.  Whether it is successful or not,” the king pointed out.

Allan turned his attention back to him.  “I understand that, Your Majesty.  But Guy was acting under the Sheriff’s orders. And he has broken with the Sheriff.”

He could see that the king’s expression was growing bored; he had to stop wasting time. “And Guy is the reason why Robin was able to reach you in time to stop the Black Knights’ second attempt on your life,” he blurted.

The king raised his eyebrows and looked at Robin again.

“That is . . . not the information we were given.  Robin told me that you provided him with the letter containing the Duke of Winchester’s date of departure.”

“Of course that’s all he told you,” Allan thought to himself, fuming.  But he schooled his features to calm and sincerity.  “It’s true that I delivered the letter to Robin alone.  I brought all of Guy’s information to Robin alone, but he was at as much risk as I was. If the Sheriff knew what he was telling me, he would have been killed.”

The king lifted a hand to scratch his chin. “Robin never told me that,” he said softly, almost more to himself than either of the men standing in front of him. Then, more authoritatively, “please explain.”

Allan cleared his throat.  “This is what happened, Your Majesty. Guy told me about the letter and I rode into the forest to tell Robin.  But he was not satisfied with hearing it; he wanted to see a copy of the letter. I was going to steal it from the Sheriff’s room by myself, but Guy insisted on helping me.  He distracted the Sheriff, and I was able to get the letter.  If he had not, I would most likely have been caught and executed.  I don’t know if Robin would have left if I had never returned, but it is likely that he would not have left as quickly as he did.” When he looked up at the king again, he could see that he had successfully reclaimed his interest.

“And you might not be sitting here now . . . Your Majesty,” he concluded.

The king looked back and forth between him and Robin, “why did not we hear this information from Robin from the first?” he inquired. “Because Robin always assumed that your interests would fall in line with his,” Allan thought, but dared not say it.  For him to say anything that might be perceived as a slander against Robin’s character would not help Guy’s cause, however true it might be. “Your Majesty, he was so distraught at the news that you were in danger that he wanted to set off immediately.  He wasn’t interested in explanations,” he said instead.

The king ignored both of them, considering in silence for a few moments.  It seemed an eternity to Allan before he spoke again. “I know that you would like for me to release Gisborne, Allan. But I cannot.  I cannot allow the idea that attempts upon the life of the king are forgiven easily to flourish.  However, if your account is true, and I do find myself convinced, then he does not deserve to share the same fate as his master.  Lord Vaisey will go to London to stand trial, and Gisborne will remain in the Nottingham castle dungeons.”

Allan wanted so badly to ask how long, but he was exhausted by the need to hide his pain and anger already.  If he had to hear that the king had no plans to ever release Guy, the façade would crack.  Instead, he made a deep bow and waited to be dismissed. Instead, the king summoned his squire to bring him his sword and rose from his chair.

“Step forward, Allan, and kneel. Let me reward you as you deserve.”

* * *

How perfectly useless, Allan thought to himself as he rode back to Knighton Hall.  His hall officially now.  The only reason he had ever wanted it was so he and Guy could finally have a place to be together in private.  He would far sooner have been banished with Guy and live as an outlaw for the rest of his days.  “Damn Robin,” he snapped aloud, sharply enough that Goat startled.  He leaned forward to stroke his horse’s neck, calming him.  It was too frustrating. He had done his best to persuade the king of Guy’s worthiness, and all he had accomplished was getting his execution suspended.  He tried to tell himself that this was a good beginning, but it felt too hollow. As long as Guy remained in the dungeon, there was a chance that he could die, but now it was clear to him that the only person who could possibly persuade the king to grant him a full pardon was Robin.  And that would only happen if Robin would admit that he had been wrong to withhold information from the king in the first place.  Allan did not hold out much hope.

His mind kept returning to the last time he had seen Guy. As soon as he could get away from the duties the king’s advisors had assigned him after the castle was taken, he rushed to the dungeon.  Guy was sitting with his back against the wall, his head buried in his arms.  He lifted it at the sound of footsteps, and as soon as he recognized Allan he arose and rushed forward, pressing his face as close to the bars as he could.

“Keep your voice down,” he hissed softly before Allan could even open his mouth. “The Sheriff is sitting right behind us in the next cell.”

Allan felt his heart sink even further and his skin grow cold.  If there was anything that could make Guy being in the dungeon worse, it was that.

Even in the darkness, he could see how scared Guy looked.  His breathing was harsh as though he had been fighting back tears, which Allan could well believe.  Crying in front of Vaisey was the worst thing he could possibly do.

He wanted to comfort him so badly, but what could he possibly say? “How’s your mouth?” was what he settled for. It would at least have a simple answer.

“It’s stopped bleeding,” Guy replied.

“Did you rinse it with water? Did they bring you some?”

“They give us water, but I haven’t had any.”

“Guy!” Allan said admonishingly. “You have to keep your strength up.  Please drink.   And try to eat whatever they give you.”

He chuckled softly. “What for, Allan? To be healthy for the executioner?”

“Shh, don’t say that!” Allan gasped. “I’ll talk to Marian, Robin, the king! I won’t rest until you’re out of here.”

Guy wrapped a hand around his, squeezing it so tight against the iron bar that it hurt. “Allan, please, I . . .” he trailed off, his voice just loud enough that Allan could hear it shaking with emotion. “I’m having a hard enough time keeping myself under control.  Listen to me, I . . . I can’t have you see me like this. I know you want to help me, but there’s nothing you can do.  And I can’t . . . feel anything while I’m here.  Do you understand?”

Allan bit his lip and nodded.  He could feel his own eyes filling with tears, and knew that he would not be able to hold himself together for much longer.  He lifted his other hand to cover Guy’s.  “Alright, I’m going, but just . . . I love you, Guy.  I’m going to get you out.  Don’t forget that.”

He could feel Guy’s hand shaking under his, but other than that he made no movement. Then, in a flash he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Allan’s fingers.  He stood up and returned to the back of his cell, sitting down with his back to the wall and laying his forehead against his crossed arms. Allan rushed up the dungeon stairs, his tears finally bursting forth to roll down his cheeks.  If Guy wasn’t released soon, he thought, he was going be in the cell with him.  For murdering the king’s favorite former outlaw.

He rode on until Knighton came into view.  Perhaps now, with Vaisey gone, Guy would be able to get some sleep. He certainly needed sleep himself, having gotten none the previous night. Perhaps, if his brain could relax, it would dream up a better plan.

* * *

As soon as Guy realized who was with him in the dungeon, he resolved to be as still and quiet as possible.  There had been a time not long ago when he would not have dared refuse to answer any question his master asked, but what hold did he have over him now?

Initially, Vaisey had been content to talk to himself, failing to get any response from Guy.  Mostly, he speculated on how Guy found himself in the dungeon in spite of supposedly living in domestic bliss with his pregnant wife for the past months.  Guy guessed that Allan must have had to tell him something of their life together; he was certain that the older man had been curious.  Several times, Guy had been tempted to ask how Vaisey had been found by the king’s men, how surprised he was when he realized how right he had been about Allan.  He was, indeed, far more clever than Guy.  But any such comments would only provoke a retaliation.  As good as Guy’s weapons of scorn and ridicule would have been in the hands of Hood, or even Marian, he didn’t trust that the Sheriff would not have better ones to use against him. 

Several times, he thought the Sheriff had tired himself out with talking, but if he moved or made any noise, it would catch his attention, and he would begin again. Eventually, he moved on to telling stories of when he and Guy first met, and where, that he had been prostituted by his previous lord, about the first time that he had killed someone and how much he had cried afterwards.  Soon, he realized that Vaisey was talking not so much to him as to the men surrounding him.  He had been there longer, and he was always much more observant than Guy.  Perhaps he had a specific listener whom Guy had not identified? The thought was too worrisome to bear in mind for long.

Eventually, Vaisey had fallen silent, but Allan’s visit seemed to reinvigorate him.

“I suppose it was kind of the king to allow your husband time to visit you in prison, given that your wife is clearly indisposed.  Did he bid you a fond farewell, Gizzy? I wonder if he’ll be present at the execution.  Although he’ll likely be too busy about the king’s business.  After all, he saved the castle; that must have gained him considerable favor.  And yet here you are, with me.  Just like old times! Whatever influence he has, he certainly hasn’t used it to save you, has he?”

Guy exhaled and turned onto his side.  He had refrained before, thinking it would betray his emotions, but now he considered that maybe if Vaisey thought he was having the desired effect, he would shut up finally.  As the hours drew on, he found himself thinking less about Vaisey and more about how thirsty he was.  It was good thing he hadn’t allowed himself to cry; he needed to preserve as much moisture as he could.  He found himself looking at the mug of water on the floor near the bars every few minutes, but he resisted.  After all, some of whatever went into him would have to come out eventually, and how would he manage that with the Sheriff sitting so near?

He realized that it must be morning when the jailer brought fresh water and bread.  Again, Guy left his by the door where the man had placed it.  Vaisey drank loudly, smacking his lips with satisfaction when his cup was drained, and making a show of tearing his bread into small pieces to eat it all the more slowly.

“What, not hungry Gizzy? Still pining? You had better eat while you have the chance. Who knows? It might be your last meal!”

Guy thought of the stew he had at Knighton just before he was arrested.  It had been thick and rich with wine and onions, more vegetables than meat, as was Allan’s preference.  There had never been much meat to go around in his family when he was a boy, and he still preferred heartier peasant fare to the rich food of the gentry.  If it was indeed to be his last meal, he could do far worse.

After that, he must have drifted off to sleep, for he awoke with a jerk when he heard the sound of booted footsteps outside his cell. A knight he did not recognize called to the jailer and ordered that Lord Vaisey be released.  Guy struggled to his feet in expectation of being called too, but no one so much as looked at him except for the Sheriff.  When the knight shoved him forward as the door to the cell closed behind him, Guy thought he saw just a trace of fear cross Vaisey’s face.  It was quickly replaced by a malicious grin.

“It looks like this is where we say goodbye, Gizzy. The king and Hood must be saving you for something special.  I hope they remembered to sharpen the knives; your tolerance for pain has never been very high!”

Almost against his will, Guy found himself stepping forward.  It hardly seemed possible that he could be seeing the Sher . . . no, he was just Lord Vaisey again, for the last time.  Lord Vaisey. Just as he had been when he first met him all those years ago.  Not knowing what to do with his hands, he lifted them to grip the bars.  He opened his mouth in an attempt to say something, but he didn’t know what.  He wasn’t grateful, that was certain, but for all Vaisey’s cruelty to him, it was unthinkable that he could be parted from someone who had meant so much to him for so long without a word.

“I . . . I hope so too . . . my lord,” he creaked out, finally.

For a moment, Vaisey simply looked at him, as though he too were at a loss for words.  Then he flashed him a final toothy grin, and turned his back, walking out of the dungeon with the king’s man close behind him.

Guy stood still, watching them depart until the doors of the dungeon closed behind them. Then he knelt down to retrieve his mug of water, draining it down his throat in two deep gulps.

* * *

It wasn’t until the jailer had brought the prisoners their evening ration of bread and water that Robin of Locksley appeared.

Guy sipped his water slowly.  He had regretted drinking the first cup so fast; more was required to satisfy his thirst, but there was no more to be had.  The sight of the bread was enough to make him queasy; he would be able to eat nothing until his stomach settled.

At the sight of his old enemy, he was glad that his exhaustion gave him an excuse not to rise. For a few seconds, Robin just looked down at him with contempt.  It was Guy who broke the silence.

“What are you doing here, Hood? Come to gloat?”

“It’s Locksley to you,” Robin sneered icily. “Call me Locksley.”

Guy smirked up at him.  “Well, I suppose I have to, now you’re there and I’m in here.  But you haven’t answered my question . . . Locksley.”

Robin’s back straightened and he cleared his throat.  “I’ve come to tell you that the king has decided not to execute you for your crimes,” he said formally.

Guy blinked at him.  It was a piece of information that raised more questions than it answered. Confusion and anger mixed in Robin’s expression. Did he mean for Guy to be grateful?

“And?” Guy asked softly.

Confusion won out.  “And what?”

Guy lifted his face to the ceiling and sighed.  “What’s going to happen to me, Locksley, if I’m not going to be executed?”

Robin’s face lined in vexation, as though the answer were obvious enough to render the question pointless.  “Well, you’ll remain here, Gisborne.”

Of course, Guy thought to himself.  “So, you wish me to thank you for sparing me a quick death, then?”

Robin only scoffed in response, and turned as though he was going to leave, but something appeared to keep him in place. Finally, he turned back to face Guy.

“You know, Gisborne, many men would be grateful for the knowledge that they’d been saved from the scaffold after having tried to kill the king!  But not you; you have to see everything in the worst light.”

Guy felt that he would laugh if he weren’t so exhausted.  There was Robin Hood, having taken his freedom, his home, and his wife, standing outside his dungeon cell, telling him he was choosing to see things in the worst light.  But he hadn’t the strength for logic; meanness would have to do.

“Come now, Locksley.  We both know that the reason I’m in here is that I bedded my wife, and you’re upset about it,” he said with sneer of his own.

Robin’s nostrils flared with fury and his mouth tightened, but he said nothing.  Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face.

“She’s not your wife anymore, Gisborne.  Your marriage has been annulled. For nonconsummation,” he added in a louder voice.

Guy gazed at him, dumbstruck.  It had occurred to him that it had been the plan for his marriage to Marian all along as far as Robin was concerned, but he didn’t think it would happen so soon. “That was . . . fast,” he said dully.

“The pope works fast,” Robin explained with a smile. 

Guy felt is heart sink at the sudden realization.  His marriage to Marian, that he had wanted so desperately, that he thought would make him and better man and, indeed, had, was over.  And there was nothing he could do about it.  He wanted nothing more than to go and curl up in the corner of his cell again, but aquestion had been stirring in the corner of his mind since the moment he recognized Robin.

“Why did you come here, Locksley?”

He looked up to see that the smile had dropped from his visitor’s face to be replaced by the confused frown again.

“I’m not as clever as you, but even I would have figured out eventually that I wasn’t going to be tried and executed.  Especially when the Sheriff was taken and I was left behind.  You must be busy with other things; why did you have to come?”

Robin’s mouth twisted, as though he didn’t like the taste of the answer he was going to give.  “Marian asked me to.”

At his words, Guy felt his heart quicken; he suddenly felt more alive than he had since Robin came to arrest him.  Marian was thinking of him! And yet that didn’t fully explain . . .

“You’re here to do penance,” he exclaimed in a hushed tone.

“What?” Robin asked, his nose wrinkling in disgust.

“Penance.  She sent you to me to atone for your sins.”

“What sins?” he cried.  “What are you talking about, Gisborne?”

“Well, she’s still going to marry you, yes?  After you abandoned her for the king?”

“I didn’t . . . that’s the most preposterous thing I’ve ever . . .” Robin’s face contorted with outrage, as though no words could express the infamy of Guy’s suggestion. “Go to hell, Gisborne,” he said with finality, turning for the door.

“Marry her soon, Locksley,” Guy called out after him, momentarily jubilant.  “You don’t want your child to be born a bastard!”


	44. The Dress

Marian had found it difficult to concentrate all that day while Robin was gone.  When she went into the kitchen at midday, Edith told her that he had come in while she was asleep, but had left again.  Marian sighed with regret; at least with Robin there, she was distracted from the constant sense of foreboding that menaced her. 

There were no positive outcomes that she could see. Either Guy would die in the dungeons if the king were not merciful, or he would be banished, and she would never see him again.  Even if the king were willing to allow him to stay in Nottingham, they could never be as they were in Robin’s absence. She could see nothing ahead of her but pretending to be happy as the lady of Locksley; these thoughts were depressingly familiar.

She found herself missing her father as much as she had a month after his death.  He had been so caring, she saw now, during her engagement to Guy.  At the time, she had been so frustrated with the inevitability of her marriage, and she had taken out that frustration on him. She recalled the time that he told her she could do worse than Gisborne, and she had replied that only marrying the Sheriff would be worse.  Now, she had to laugh at the irony.  She would give anything to be able to see Guy now.

When Robin returned that evening, she was distressed by the anger that clouded his brow.  Even before he said a word, she knew that he had honored her request and visited Guy, and that it had not gone well.  She tried to make small talk, but too quickly her anxiety had gotten the best of her.

“How did you find Guy?” she asked timidly.

Robin rolled his eyes.  “Well, I can say that spending a night in the dungeon hasn’t improved his civility.”

Marian pressed her lips into a firm line, wondering silently whether a night in the dungeon had ever improved anyone’s civility.  She had never slept in a dungeon herself, but she thought it extremely unlikely.

“How did he look?”

Robin shrugged.  “It’s dark down there; I couldn’t really see.  And I didn’t stay very long.  He was so ungrateful for the suspension of his execution that I saw no point in staying.”

She took a moment to compose herself, hoping that the rush of blood to her face was not too noticeable.  It wasn’t until Robin’s brows began to crease with worry that she spoke, slowly.  “I don’t know . . . why would he thank you, Robin? Isn’t he in there because of what you told the king . . . and didn’t tell the king?”

Robin scowled.  “He thinks he’s there because he slept with you.  His wife!” he snapped.

Marian sighed. “A perfectly reasonable thought,” she said to herself. Aloud, she asked, “what did you say to that?”

“I told him that your marriage to him had been annulled.”

She closed her eyes tight, as though she had been struck.  Poor Guy! If only she had let Allan tell him.

“That was cruel,” she muttered.

Robin cocked his head to the side.  “I’m sorry?”

“That. Was. Cruel,” she repeated, opening her eyes again and looking up at him.

“Marian, he insulted me! And you! He told everyone in the dungeon that he bedded you.”

“Well, Robin,” she replied, struggling to keep her voice even, “I don’t care what other prisoners in the dungeon think of me.  And neither should you.  I’m sorry he goaded you, but he was probably tired and hungry.  He probably thinks you’ve left him there to . . . to rot, Robin.”

He rolled his eyes again and sat back in his seat, but made no reply.

“Besides,” she went on, “Robin, you could come back here, to Locksley, and tell me about it. He’s down there, alone in the dark, with nothing to do but think about how we’re not even married anymore.  That I won’t even get a widow’s honors if he dies. That he . . .” and there she trailed off, worried that her emotions would overcome her and make Robin angry.

“Well, he did say something useful, Robin conceded,” his voice softening so that became almost meek.

Marian looked at him out of the corners of her eyes.  “What might that be?”

“He reminded me that we need to get married before you have the baby.”

Marian felt her heart sink.  Once his words were out, they seemed obvious.  Of course it would be easier for them to marry before the birth, to make sure the child would be considered a legitimate heir if it were a boy.

“What do you think?” he asked, almost pleadingly.

She tried to give him a little smile.  “I think we had better marry as soon as possible.”

Robin exhaled with relief, and she frowned again.  Did he actually think she might refuse? That she could even afford to?

He promised to find a priest the next day, and reassured her that the wedding would be a small, quick affair. Marian nodded, then announced her wish to go to bed, citing her tiredness.  That was never a lie nowadays.  Her back and legs still ached, but now she had no one to give her relief with his warm body and soothing hands.  Even though she was about to marry him, she still found Robin too foreign to be allowed to touch her beyond what courtesy made necessary.

* * *

The next day, he returned to the manor jubilantly, announcing that the wedding was set for the following afternoon.  Marian’s relief was unaffected; at least it would be over soon, and she could go back to the seclusion of the manor’s private rooms to wait for her labor pains to begin. Edith promised to help her in any way she could, to make sure that the day made as few demands on her strength as possible.  The first order of business, of course, was to find a dress.  Marian had to admit that it was what worried her most: being seen by so many people—Robin had promised only to invite those closest to him, but there were so many of those!—in her current state. Edith went upstairs to gather some garments she believed might be appropriate, or that could be made so with little effort. Almost as soon as she came through the door with her armload of dresses, Marian saw the futility of their goal.

“Most of these will be too small, my lady, but I do think this one will do very nicely.” She lay the dresses on the bed and held up a dark grey one with wine colored trim. Marian could feel her eyes grow moist at the sight of it.

“I know you haven’t worn this one for some time, but I always thought it was so lovely when you were working on it back in the autumn.  You were so busy then, and I think you said you liked this best out of everything you made.”

Marian cleared her throat, trying to hold her tears at bay.  It would not do to have Edith know how much the sight of that dress upset her.

“I did say that; it was.  But I just don’t . . . I don’t think it would be the best choice.”

Edith’s face lined with concern.  “But, my lady, this is your wedding! You’ve waited so long to marry Lord Robin; don’t you want to look your best?”

Marian forced herself to smile, but could do nothing to stop her voice from shaking as she spoke.  “I just . . . I suppose I’ll have to look my best . . . in . . . in something else.”

Edith lay the grey dress down on the bed on top of the others, stepping towards Marian and taking hold of her elbow gently.

“My lady,” she cooed, “what’s the matter.  Have I done something to upset you?”

Marian sat down next to the dresses heavily, no looking up.  She reached for the dress and trailed her finger down one of the burgundy ribbons.

“It’s not you, Edith.  You’ve been so kind to help me when you have so many other things to do, but . . . this dress . . . This dress.”

And then she broke down, burying her face in her hands as the tears burst forth.

Edith sat down next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“There, there, my lady.  Don’t fret.  We’ll find something else.”

After a few minutes, Marian sat up and sniffed, finally able to form words.

“I’m . . . sorry, Edith.  I . . . I didn’t meant to worry you like that.”

“Oh, tush,” the older said, giving her a light squeeze. “It’s been many years since I had my babies, but I remember what it was like near the end, crying over nothing.”

Marian sighed.  “This isn’t nothing, Edith.” She knew she should probably stop there, that the servant would not want to hear about what that dress meant to her.  But she had restrained herself so much since Guy’s arrest that the idea that she might find some relief was irresistable.

She reached for the trimming again, clinging to it as though for security. “When I made this dress, you may remember that I was making some shirts for Guy as well.  This trimming is made from the scraps that were left over.”

“Well, that’s . . . good that you didn’t waste any,” Edith replied uncertainly.

Marian smiled.  “Yes, that’s what I thought at the time too.  But now that I think about it, I realize that it was more than that.  I wanted to wear something of his. I . . . I knew that we would be parted, eventually.  And I wanted a reminder that I had done something for him.  That something, however small, that was good had come out of our marriage.  And I wanted to remember what he had done for me.  I finished this dress on the day he came home bruised from being hit, and I told him not to go back to the Sheriff.  And he was so afraid, but he stayed here because I asked him to.”

She felt her breathing becoming more labored, as though she was going to cry again, and stopped.  Edith turned slightly to look at her.

“You’re worried that this dress will make you think of Sir Guy, and that’s why you don’t want to wear it when you marry Lord Robin? That’s perfectly understandable.”

Marian looked up at her, trying to blink back her tears. “It’s not that I don’t want to be reminded of my wedding with Guy, you understand.  It’s just . . . now that he’s been arrested and is in the dungeon, I’m already thinking about him.  And this dress reminds me of how . . . sweet he was these past few months.  Just looking at it is . . . it just brings back so many memories.”

Edith was silent for such a long time that Marian regretted being so open.  Was Edith disappointed in her? Would she tell Robin what she had said? Well, it was too late now.

She heard the older woman sigh.  “I know this will sound disloyal, my lady . . . but I feel for him too.”

Marian felt as though a weight had been lifted from her.  She wasn’t as completely alone as she had believed.

“I know that he’s done a lot of terrible things, and I suppose the law says he has to be punished for that, but . . . he has been a different man these past months.  I would never have believed it.  And it’s because of you.  So I don’t wonder that you . . . feel badly for him.”

That gave Marian some pause, she wondered if the servant suspected how much further her feelings for Guy went than mere sympathy.  But she decided it was enough for now. “Thank you, Edith.  That . . . that means a lot to me.”

Edith stood up, gathering the dresses up in her arms.  She left the grey and burgundy one in Marian’s hand.  “I think the dress you have on will do well enough, my lady, once we freshen it up a bit.  It’s been so long since anyone outside the house has seen you! I’ll just see what I can find in the way of a veil, and you’ll be ready.  Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Marian bit her lip, suddenly worried again.  There was something she wanted very badly, but she hadn’t dared asked Robin to do it for her. “If it’s not too much trouble,” she replied, “could you please ask Luke to ride to Knighton and invite Allan?”

“To the wedding? Of course! I’d be surprised if Lord Robin hasn’t sent him an invitation already.”

“No,” Marian agreed, “I don’t doubt it.  But that’s not exactly what I mean.  I would like for Allan to come and see me.  As soon as he can.”

* * *

Marian had to admit that it didn’t surprise her very much that Allan accompanied Luke himself rather than just sending word.  She imagined that he would be anxious to do anything that distracted him from sitting at Knighton alone, missing Guy.

Still, she was nervous about seeing him. She hadn’t since the night he came to tell her about Guy being arrested, no doubt in the hopes that she would convince Robin to use his influence to get him out more quickly.  Perhaps he blamed her for his remaining in the dungeon.  Perhaps, now that he had seen the result, he blamed her for telling Robin about her affair with Guy, even though he had told her to do so!

When he arrived, he looked even more disheveled than she expected, and for a moment, she wondered if he had been drinking. But when he spoke, it was in a clear sober voice.

“Are you alright, Marian? You look . . . tired.”

She gave him a weary smile.  “That’s better than the last time you came to visit me after something devastating happened.  You told me I looked terrible.  You do, by the way.”

“I do what?”

“Look terrible.” It was true.  His clothes were dusty, as though he hadn’t bothered to change them for days; his hair was messy and his face lined.  The sight of him filled her with guilt.

When he gave a weak smile, she felt enough relief to ask how he was.

“Well, for someone who’s barely slept in the past two days, I’m well enough.  I didn’t fall off of the horse on the way over here.  And, by the way, thank you for keeping Guy’s horse here.  I saw her when Luke was putting Goat up in the stable, and it made me feel a bit better.  If she had stayed at Knighton, she might be in the king’s hands now, preparing to make her way to London, and God knows where else first.”

Marian felt the blood draining from her face.  “The king is on his way back to London?” she cried.  If they were to get Guy out of the dungeon by legal means, only the king could provide them.

“I think he means to give you away at the wedding, and then leave after that.”

She exhaled.  That gave Robin some time to speak with him, at least. “I’m sorry, Allan.”

He frowned with confusion, and then his eyes narrowed suspiciously.  “What do you have to be sorry for?”

“I’m sorry . . . for what’s happened to Guy. Maybe I should’ve waited until Robin was . . . calmer to tell him, none of this would have . . .”

“Hold on, Marian,” Allan said sharply, lifting his hand to stop her.  “First, there is no time you could have waited for, or words you could have picked that would have made him ‘calm’ about any of this.  As far as he’s concerned, what you’ve done is a cardinal sin against himself, God, and the nation. And I have no idea what order he ranks those in. Look, my point is, you did the right thing. His reaction to it is on him.”

Marian looked away, determined to control her tears this time.  She remembered how distressed Allan had seemed when she broke down in front of him before. “Thank you, Allan,” she said as she faced him again.  “But you mustn’t be too hard on Robin.  It must have been such a shock to him.”

Allan scoffed.  “No doubt, but he had some time to process the shock before he made up his mind to do what he did.  And I don’t think I could be too hard on him! You know that Guy wouldn’t have had to spend one night in the dungeon if Robin had told him the whole truth!”

She felt her lips tighten.  There was no way they could know that, but she hadn’t asked Allan to come to fight with him.  “Allan, I . . . I want to ask something of you. Did you receive your invitation to the wedding tomorrow?”

Allan looked away from her and nodded.

“Did you reply?”

He sighed. “I haven’t.  I was planning to, you know, just not show up.  I’m certain Robin won’t miss me.”

Marian reached to take his hand.  “I would miss you.  I sent for you to tell you how important it is to me that you be there.”

Allan glanced at her, then averted his eyes again, but he made no attempt to withdraw his hand. “I’m just not in good enough spirits to go to a wedding, Marian, I . . . I want to do this for you, but all I’m going to do is worry about Guy the whole time.”

She squeezed his hand a little tighter.  “So am I, Allan.  You’re not the only one who’s thinking of him day and night.  That’s why I want you there.”

This time he kept his gaze directed at her, his eyes open wide in surprise. “You want me there to look glum among all those joyful faces?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “I want someone there who knows how I really feel.  At least when I married Guy the people who know me best were upset for me.  Now . . . I only hope people will think I’m upset because I’m nine months pregnant, not because I don’t want to finally marry Robin.”

Allan turned to her seriously.  “Don’t you, though?”

“Of course I do, Allan.  I’ve wanted it for as long as remember.  But I never imagined these circumstances. I don’t think I ever could have.”

He looked at her for a long time, his face seeming to grow more worn with each passing second. She felt her heart sink again, almost certain that he would refuse her.

“Alright,” he said at length. “I’ll be there.”

She leaned forward to press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Allan.  Thank you so much.”


	45. After the Wedding

Robin felt that a pall had been cast over their wedding from the beginning, and it took the almost literal form of Marian’s veil.  As hard as she had tried, as many people as she had asked, Edith had not been able to find any on such short notice besides the very same one Marian had worn at her wedding with Guy almost two years earlier.

The servant had been apologetic and anxious, but Marian’s response had been tranquil, almost sedate.

“It’s fine, Edith; it doesn’t matter,” she had said listlessly as she arranged the tiara on her head and draped the veil over her face.  She hadn’t removed it again until after the ceremony; indeed, she had barely allowed him to lift it when the priest said, “You may now kiss the bride.” He wondered what emotions she was using it to mask, and the thought quickly led to unpleasant speculation.

When Robin had seen her that morning, she made no protest about the tradition of husbands not seeing their wives before their weddings.  Instead, she had told him, “Robin, make sure you speak with the king about Guy’s pardon today. It may be your last chance before he leaves.” He had promised that he would, but it was a prospect he dreaded.  He knew that the king was planning to leave shortly after he gave Marian away at the wedding, and that he really could not bring the matter up too soon.  And yet he hesitated.  There were two reasons for this.  The first was simply that he did not know what to do with Gisborne if he was released.  Even in the likely event that he were banished, preparations would need to be made.  Not even he liked the idea of sending Gisborne forth with nothing but the clothes on his back . . . for the second time in his life.  “At least he doesn’t have a little sister to look out for this time,” Robin thought to himself, but it was a small comfort.

The other reason was the he didn’t quite trust Gisborne free until his marriage to Marian was finalized.  If he brought it up to the king, he might want to get it out of the way immediately.  The thought of Gisborne being present at his weeding was almost more than he could bear.  There was probably nothing he could do to stop it: not when his marriage to Marian had been annulled by the pope himself, and when Robin’s marriage to her enjoyed such wide approval.  But that wouldn’t stop him from starting unpleasantness. Even the attendance of Allan a Dale, still in the black leather he had worn as the Sheriff’s Master at Arms, though somewhat cleaner than Robin had last seen him, had unnerved him. Allan had looked about as happy to be there as Marian did.

Still, the mechanics of the wedding had gone entirely to plan.  As soon as it was over, his wife had announced that she was too tired to stay and accept the congratulations of their guests.  She would leave that to him, and wait for him inside the house.

As he was greeting his guests, Robin was distracted by his search for the king.  He seemed to have disappeared as soon as the ceremony was over. As soon as he could get away, Robin ordered his white charger saddled and set off for the castle.  When he found him, he was already on his horse, his retinue following behind. Robin urged his horse into a trot, pulling him up to stand in front of the king.

“Ah, Robin, good,’ he called.  “I did not wish to leave without saying goodbye to you.”

“I . . . I’m sorry I was distracted, Your Majesty.  You left so quickly,” Robin replied.  He was beginning to sweat under his tunic.  How could he bring up Gisborne to the king now? But also, how would he face Marian if he did not?

“There was . . . one more thing I wanted to ask of Your Majesty before you left.

The king frowned impatiently.  “Yes, Robin, what is it?”

“It’s about Gisborne, Your Majesty.  I . . . wanted to ask you if . . . if you planned to release him?”

The king’s brows creased, and he stared at Robin in silence as though he had said something preposterous.  “Release him? Why would I release him? We have only been in Nottingham for a week, and he has been in the dungeon for less than that! That seems a very light sentence, Robin.”

The younger man’s eyes widened.  The king clearly felt no inclination to let Gisborne out of the dungeon, and he was out of time to reason with him.

“But, Your Majesty! I thought that . . . well, since you suspended his execution . . .”

“There is a vast difference between stopping an execution and simply letting him go free, Robin.  I though you would understand that, at least. He should be happy to still be alive,” the king cried.

“Yes, but . . . Your Majesty.  Men die in dungeons.  It happens all the time.”

The king merely stared at him coldly again.  “Then perhaps he should have considered that before he stabbed you and attempted to murder his king.”

Robin heaved a sigh.  It was useless.  Marian would be disappointed, but he did not know what more could be done.

“Now, Robin.  Don’t look so downcast.  I’m not wholly without mercy, you know,” the king went on, more gently. “Come to me in London once we’ve returned, and we will discuss a new sentence for Gisborne then.”

Robin looked up, feeling hopeful once more.  “When will you be in London again, Your Majesty?”

“Who can say, Robin? Perhaps as little as a fortnight. Perhaps as much as a month.  We do have several castles to retake, of course, and some will not be as easily won as Nottingham’s. But I intend to hold a meeting of my most loyal nobles when I return, and of course I will summon you.”

Robin thanked the king and turned his horse, walking him to the back of the retinue.  He dismounted, leaving him with one of the king’s most trusted nights.  He was a war horse, and would grow bored and restless with the quite life Robin was to lead now.  Robin half expected that he might soon grow bored and restless with that life as well, if it were not for Marian.  If it were not for Marian: the words left him uneasy.  There was no need to find a new horse; he would walk back to Locksley.  He could use the time to think about how best to bring this less than satisfying news to his wife.

* * *

When he found Marian sitting at the dining table upon his return, she was still in her green dress, but had discarded her veil.  She turned to him, and he saw that her eyes were dry, though her complexion was still pale and tired.

“Did you get to rest, my love?” he asked softly. It occurred to him that this was the first time he had seen her, sitting at their table, as his wife.  The thought filled him with warmth, and when she turned her gaze to him, he searched for signs that she felt the same.

“I’m fine, Robin,” she said with some impatience.  “Did you find the king?”

He exhaled with frustration.  So much for easing her into the news.  “I did find him.”

“Good! What did he say?”

“That he thinks it’s too soon to release Gisborne,” he said with a shrug.

He had expected Marian to be disappointed, but disappointment was not what he saw cross her face.  Her eyes widened and she pursed her lips in anger.

“How can it be too soon? He’s spent two days and nights there, Robin! How long does the king want to wait?”

Robin stared at her, taken aback by her tone.  “He didn’t specify an amount of time.  But if he refused to pardon him, what can I do about it? I can’t release him myself, Marian.  I can’t defy the king!”

She scoffed.  “How many times have you gotten yourself, or someone else, out of that castle, Robin?”

“That was different.  That was the Sheriff.  I was fighting injustice!”

Marian stared at him, her lips pressing so tightly together they all but disappeared.  He thought he knew what she was struggling to hold in.  That in this case, it was he who was guilty of injustice.  That he should never have arrested Guy in the first place.

“Listen, Marian.  The king has made his decision.  He said that we might discuss a new sentence for Gisborne when he returns to London.”

“And how long will that be?” she asked warily.

“He said . . . between a fortnight and a month.”

“A month!” she cried, pressing down on the table with her hands in an effort to rise. “Robin, he can’t possibly stay there for a month! What can you be thinking?”

“My love, calm yourself, please!” Robin pleaded, reaching to take her hand.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.  As he watched her, he felt anger kindling in himself.  Had he not done all she could reasonably expect?

“The king clearly means to release him eventually.  Why is it so important to you for him to get out so soon?”

Robin knew as soon as his question was out how accusatory it sounded, and he regretted his tone.  But at the same time, it was a question that had plagued him since he told her of Gisborne’s arrest.

He hope she would cite the same compassion she had the first time he had mentioned Gisborne being hanged for his crimes: that she simply did not wish to see anyone in the dungeon for any length of time.  Or gratitude for how he had helped her while Robin was away.  Instead, her brow furrowed and her jaw dropped, as though it were a ridiculous question.

“Because I love him, Robin.  I told you that the day you got back.”

Outrage inflamed his senses; he felt the blood rush to his face and his muscles tense. Now it was his turn to hold back the words he wanted to shout at her.  How could she say such a thing to him when they had just been married?

“You don’t believe me?” she asked, infuriatingly calm.

“No,” he couldn’t resist snapping.  “I remember very well you telling me that then, but as I’ve said before, I didn’t think you were in your right mind. How could I marry you if I believed you were in love with another man?”

Marian looked down at her lap in what he assumed was shame, and he felt a momentary burst of guilt.  After the tiring day she had had, it wasn’t impossible that she was not in her right mind now. He shifted closer to her, poised to comfort her and apologize when the tears began to fall.

Instead, she looked up at him with dry eyes and heaved a deep sigh.  “Robin, there is something I have to tell you.  I thought I never would, but now it seems the only way.”

He felt his blood run cold.  At the same time, he wanted both to leave and to hear what she had to say before she could possibly get it out, but he remained silent.

“Do you remember when I had to accompany Guy to the Sheriff’s feast in the summer? And I had to spend three nights in the same bed with him?”

He nodded.  He remembered how furious the idea had made him, and how much Marian had dreaded it.  But afterwards she had almost nothing to say about it.  Yes it was awkward, no, Guy had not done anything unseemly.  That was all she had said in response to his questions.  What was she about to tell him now? He was almost shaking with anticipation.

“Well, the first two nights were mostly uneventful, as I told you, but I didn’t sleep well because Guy kept getting up and coming back to bed.  It was even worse than you’d expect, because he insisted on tying his wrists together so he wouldn’t accidentally touch me as he slept. And then I realized why.  He was . . . I was . . . well, my . . . being there was exciting him.  So, the final night . . . I . . . well . . . I tied him up to the headboard with his rope, and I brought him off with my hand.”

Robin’s mouth dropped open in shock. He couldn’t believe he was hearing this.  That had been eight months ago! That was before her father had died, before she had moved back to Locksley.  It was before they had conceived their child! And all the time he had never imagined that she had done anything so salacious with his enemy! Why, that was only a few months after she had given herself to _him_ for the first time!

As he fumed silently, she went on.  “Even as I was doing it, I knew it wasn’t just for him.  It was lust, Robin.  I’m not proud of it, and I promised myself that nothing like that would ever happen again.  And it certainly didn’t come between us, did it? I loved just as much as I had before.  Perhaps I showed it even more; I felt so guilty, so undeserving of you.  And, as you know, I didn’t see Guy again until my father’s funeral.”

Finally, Robin forced himself to speak.  “Why are you telling me this now, Marian?” Was it because they were already married, and he was stuck with her now? Even as he opened his mouth to ask her, the words died in his throat.  He still wanted her, in spite of everything. If she still wanted to forget all about it, why couldn’t they?

She sighed again.  “The reason, Robin, is that I no longer feel only lust for him now.  I didn’t touch him again until three months after your departure, but long before then I began to see another side to him.  He can be generous, loving, selfless . . . I always thought he could be a good man away from the Sheriff’s influence, and now I know it as a fact. He’s . . . not the man you are, Robin.  And I still love you too; please believe that! But I see now that there is more than one way of being a good man.”

Robin simply looked at her; as little as he had spoken, this conversation had exhausted him.  He felt his mind reeling, torn between a new, deeper pain at her betrayal and an equally strong need to protect her, even from himself.

“Well, Marian.  As I said, the king has to give the order for his release.  And only the king can grant him a pardon.  I don’t know what you think I can do.”

Her face clouded with anger.  “I think you know exactly what to do, Robin,” she said coldly.  “You don’t believe Guy deserves a death sentence, and you know that leaving him in the dungeon for an indeterminate sentence amounts to just that.  You use your influence with the king to get him out before a month is up.”

“Marian, the king is gone! I would have to go after him, and I’m hardly going to leave you in the state you’re in! Besides, what if he still thinks it hasn’t been enough time.  What can I do?”

“Convince him!” she shouted. “Convince him as you should have done before the wedding!” He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. “No, Robin.  You can.  Don’t tell me that you convinced him to pack up his army, make peace with Saladin, and come back to England after a seven year absence, but now you can’t convince him to pardon a single Black Knight.  A Black Night who helped to save his life, no less! That’s a contradiction I can’t accept.  Either you chose to stay away from me for seven months, chasing glory, and lied to me about it, or you’re lying now.  You have influence with the king; you just don’t want to use it to help someone you see as a rival!”

He could hear her panting, out of breath, and her face was disturbingly blotched with redness.  Of course, her words infuriated him, but he was more worried about her health.  There would be time to be angry with her later.

“Marian, please,” he said, trying to keep his voice soothing even as it was almost shaking with emotion.  “Calm down.  We can’t discuss this anymore while you’re so agitated.”

She looked down again, closing her eyes and laboring to compose herself.  When she face him again, her eyes were cold.  “You’re right Robin, and I don’t want to discuss it.  I want you to listen.  I want you to listen, and understand, and believe what I say.  If Guy dies in the dungeon because you worked on the king to put him there, and refused to work on the king to get him out, we will all pay for it.  There will be a reckoning, and I don’t know what it will be.  But neither you nor I will escape unscathed.”

His stared at her dumbfounded.  Words failed him; how could he possible respond to that promise? Or was it a threat? Eventually, Marian gave up, leaving him to himself.

“I’m going to bed, Robin.  Downstairs.  Matilda says I have to move upstairs soon, for the birth, but tonight I just don’t think I can.  Please . . . think about what I’ve said.”


	46. The Visitors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After reexamining the remaining chapters, I think it's possible that there will be fewer than 55 total. At any rate, we're under 10 chapters left to go now!

It was a week after the wedding when Marian convinced Robin to pay another visit to the dungeons, and he had even less desire to go than he had the first time.  There was really no reason for him to be in the castle at all.  The king’s advisor who had been left in the role of sheriff was settling in. Little John was busy building his new cottage, and Much equally busy adapting to life at Bonchurch, the manor Robin had so long ago promised him.  It gave Robin some relief that at least one of them was going to have the happy ending they’d dreamed of together.

His marriage to Marian so far had been quite different from what he’d imagined. She had indeed slept downstairs on their wedding night, and he hadn’t slept well in his own bed.  He couldn’t stop thinking of how Gisborne had slept where Marian was after her wedding with him.  He was being punished for not telling her about the hoax involving the king’s return—and no doubt, unbeknownst to him, for inflicting the knife wound that had almost killed her. But did Marian similarly consider herself in need of punishment? If only she did!

That had been the most unsettling part of her second confession for him; it was in past tense. “I felt so guilty, so undeserving of you,” she had said.  She no longer felt bad about what she had done.  She was sorry she had caused him pain, but that wasn’t quite the same thing.

“I am sorry,” she had repeated the next morning, “But I’m sorry for deceiving Guy too.  He thought that I would warm to him in time, that I would forget about his deception.  And I let him think it. I just always made sure there was something new I had to hold against him.  I made him more miserable than he had been before he married me.”

“Is that what I have to look forward to?” Robin had thought to himself.  “Wonderful.”

“But I can’t be sorry I married him, Robin. Where would I have been in your absence if I hadn’t?”

Somehow she managed to make the alternatives sound even bleaker than their current situation.  She had almost gotten him to feel a bit of gratitude for Gisborne, but then she had asked him to visit the dungeon again.  He had put her off as long as he could, but she had asked every day: sometimes coaxingly, other times in the same icy tone she had used after the wedding.  “You don’t even have to talk to him,” she had insisted in desperation.  Robin smiled grimly at the recollection.  There was no chance of that, unfortunately.

Finally, he had given in.  “Alright, Marian, fine.  Only because it will help you relax, though.  When I get back and tell you that Gisborne is still alive, you have to promise me that you will lie down upstairs and do your breathing exercises like Matilda said. You’ll be using them soon.”

She had agreed with as much enthusiasm as he had seen since before the wedding, and he left, hoping that he would have some better news to give her upon his return.

* * *

It was midday, and there was a little more light coming through the dungeon’s tiny windows than in the evening when he last visited.  He could easily find Gisborne’s cell, but it was still difficult to make out the man himself. Robin could just barely see him sitting in the back of his cell.

“Come forward, Gisborne,” he ordered.  “Let me have a look at you.”

The tall man rose slowly, and with clear difficulty from his position against the wall. Robin wondered how long he had been sitting in that same spot.

Even in the dim light he could see the effect a week in the dungeon had had on him.  He stepped closer to the bars as Guy slowly advanced towards them and found that he could smell him more than see him.  His hair was greasy and what skin Robin could see was covered with a layer of dirt mixed with sweat.  He was tempted to step back in revulsion, but resisted the impulse.  Marian would have questions, and he wanted to at least be able to answer them honestly.

“Is it time, Locksley?” Guy asked, his voice rough with disuse.

Robin blinked in confusion.  “What are you talking about? Time for what?” Surely even in the dungeon Gisborne would know that the king had already left Nottingham.

“Time for me to join my master in Hell, of course.”

Robin scoffed.  Did he really think so little of the man who had saved him that he believed the king had changed his mind? Did he believe that of himself? Robin wasn’t certain he wanted an answer.

“I haven’t come to kill you, Gisborne.”

The prisoner made no reply to that, but slumped against the bars, sliding back into a sitting position.  From his new vantage point, he could see how sallow and lined Guy’s complexion was underneath the filth.

“Are you . . . are you well, Gisborne?” Robin asked, regretting the simplicity of his question almost immediately.  Of course he wasn’t well.

Guy seemed to punctuate that point by coughing loudly.  “I am . . . as you see me, Locksley.”

The answer suited the question, Robin thought darkly.

“How is Marian?” Guy asked after a pause.  The question brought on another cough.

Robin didn’t know how to answer that.  If he told Guy how much she worried for him, would it make him feel better? Possibly, but Robin couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“She’s . . . fine, Gisborne.”

Guy looked up at him with a mocking smile.  “What have you done that she’s sent you back to me?”

Robin narrowed his eyes, remembering the insinuation at their last meeting.  Guy had called it penance, and perhaps he was right. Maybe she did want to punish him now, even if she hadn’t before. He decided to tell Guy the truth; what harm would it do?

“She wanted me to convince the king to release you before he left.  But I didn’t know he was going to depart immediately after the wedding.  Obviously, I wasn’t very persuasive.”

Guy turned away, hiding his face from him.  “Well, if it’s any comfort, Locksley, I never had any faith that you would get me out.  No doubt you can be persuasive, but you would have to actually want what you were asking for.”

“Oh, I want you out of here!” Robin cried, aware of how petulant he sounded, not caring now who heard him.  “Out of here, out of England, and out of Marian’s mind! It’s bad enough that you seduced my wife while I was in the Holy Land; I don’t need her blaming me for your death too.

He expected further contempt from Guy, but instead he stood up again, even more slowly than before, and retreated to the darkness at the back of his cell.

“That’s my sole comfort, Locksley.  That she’ll never forgive you.  If I had killed you, she would never have forgiven me, but, for once, I’m luckier than you are.”

Robin shook his head.  “Aren’t you the least bit worried about Allan, Gisborne?”

Guy was silent for another moment.  “He’ll blame you, too.”

He couldn’t stop himself from laughing at the understatement. “Blame me, Gisborne? If you were released and killed by a bolt of lightning, Allan would blame me!”

“That’s true; he would,” Guy agreed with a sigh.  Even with the distance, Robin could hear the fondness in his voice.  Of course Allan was upset. Before, Robin had guessed that Guy loved only as form of jealous obsession, but even before he left for the Holy Land he had to admit there was something more between him and Allan.  Even if he was more than willing to let Gisborne die for Marian’s sake, he did not want Allan to lose someone who was perhaps the only person he truly loved.

“Listen, Gisborne,” he said.  “The king told me he would send for me when he returns to London for a meeting of his nobles, and that we could discuss a new sentence for you then, and I intend to do just that. That’s all I came to tell you. It’s not over.  Just . . . take better care of yourself.”

He intended to leave at that, but just before he reached the steps he heard Guy’s faint voice calling to him.  When he returned to the cell, the prisoner was leaning against the bars again.

“Locksley, will you . . . will you send word to me when Marian has her baby? I just . . . I would like to know that she’s alright?”

Robin’s feelings warred within him.  It outraged him that Guy would feel entitled to know something of such intimate importance to him.  After all, Marian was his wife now, and she was giving birth to his child!  But at the same time, he was oddly touched.

“Yes, Gisborne.  I’ll try.”

Guy nodded, but spoke no more, instead turning his back to him.  Robin wondered if he was aware of impoliteness of his gesture, or if he was simply tired after what had likely been his longest conversation since his arrest.

Robin felt a touch of weariness himself as he rode home on the bay gelding he found in the Locksley stable.  It was, after all, the most civil conversation he and Gisborne had ever had.  He wasn’t sure what to make of it.

* * *

For the first few days after Robin’s visit, Guy had found even the thought of food off-putting.  If he was to spend the rest of his life in that cell, surely eating would only prolong the inevitable.  He tried to spend most of his time sleeping, but when he did find sleep, he only dreamed of being back at Locksley with Allan and Marian.  It made his waking hours that much more unbearable.  And yet even wide awake, he was plagued by thoughts he could not stop.  What had Robin told Marian of their first visit? Did she blame him for driving him away? He wondered if Allan had been rewarded as he deserved by the king, and did he take any satisfaction from it.  He hoped the king had not decided to keep him in the position as Master of Arms, though perhaps under a more reasonable sheriff it would be more pleasant.  If only he could think of Allan being happy, it would bring him a measure of peace, but how would he know? At times, he regretted having sent him away and telling him not to return.

He even thought of Vaisey, wondering if he had already been executed, or if he were in a similar dungeon in London.  No, it couldn’t be similar to this one.  For all the dirt and mold, the Nottingham dungeon at least had the advantage of being fairly quiet.  While most of the cells did contain multiple criminals, no one had ever been put in with Guy, much to his relief.  And yet he was glad not to be entirely alone.  The other men spoke little to each other, and barely at all to him, but the sound of occasional voices was comforting.  Fresh water and food were provided twice daily, and the jailer was a humane man.  He had told them when the king left, and answered to occasional question from Guy about what day it was, or what time of day. New men had come in, and some of the guards had thought the better of their decision to resist the king’s men and had asked to take their oaths of fealty.  Guy very much doubted that offer would ever be made to him.

After Robin’s second visit, things had improved somewhat.  The other prisoners had been curious about their conversation; after all, it was the only entertainment available to them.  Guy answered their questions about Robin, and even a few about himself, but he refused to talk about Marian beyond that she had been married to him and was married to Robin now.  Explaining to them what an annulment was had taken up too much of his energy anyway.

He had tried to eat more since Robin told him about the king’s words regarding his sentence, but it was difficult.  It was astonishing how quickly his strength had been drained from him; even eating a large slice of bread, he had to take breaks.  But at least since he was moving less, he didn’t need to eat as much. What worried him most had been his cough, which had grown steadily worse with each passing week.

Robin made no more visits to him, and neither did anyone else.  By the third week, his hope was beginning to fail again, when one afternoon the most unexpected person came to the dungeon.  Guy was just about to fall asleep when he heard the sound of the heavy door creak open.  He sat up and moved closer to the bars, his mouth falling open when he saw Matilda approaching his cell, setting down a large basket and kneeling to his level.

“Look at me, Gisborne,” she asked, more gently than Robin had earlier.  Guy obeyed; at least he could be confident that Matilda meant him no harm.  But why had she come?

Unexpectedly, she reached through the bars and cupped his jaw, gently pulling his face closer to her.  She peered down at him intently, her face twisting into a concerned frown. He pulled away from her to cough into his hand.

“I don’t like the look of your skin, Gisborne.  Are they giving you enough water here?”

“One cup, twice a day,” he answered.

She shook her head.  “Not enough, clearly.  Will they give you more if you ask for it?”

“I . . . I think so.  I haven’t asked.”

Matilda turned to glance over her shoulder.  Guy could see the jailer standing behind her, his expression uneasy.  He thought he could imagine the look she must be giving him.

“I want you to drink more water, Gisborne.  And here,” she said, shoving an envelope through the bars. “I want you to put these herbs in your water; it should take care of that cough.  If the water were warm, it would help, but this will be better than nothing.

Guy nodded, holding on to the medicine tightly.  Was Matilda there just to check on his health? Had Robin sent her, or was it . . .

“How is Marian,” he blurted.  “Has she . . . did the . . .”

This time, Matilda smiled in response.

“She had her baby late last night.  A little girl, just as you predicted.  She decided to name her Morganna.  With two “n”s; she was very specific about that.”

Guy smiled slowly, but so broadly that he could feel an ache in the underused muscles of his face. That news alone seemed sufficient to cure his cough and restore his strength.  “And she . . . she’s well? Marian?”

“They’re both fine and healthy,” she reassured him. 

Without thinking, he reached for her hand that was wrapped around a bar and covered it with his own.  Almost immediately, he released her, embarrassed.  She looked at him curiously for a moment.  “Give me your hand,” she demanded, reaching through the bars once more.  He did as he was told.  “Now, squeeze it as hard as you can.”

She frowned again as he did.  “You’re losing strength, Gisborne.  Now, listen to me.  I want you to move as much as you can.  Stand up, don’t just sit at the back of your cell like you have been. Walk around your cell every few hours.”

Guy looked up at her, his eyes widening.  So she had been talking to Robin about him.

“What are you doing here with me, Matilda? Marian needs you more.”

“No,” she corrected.  “Marian needs sleep.  You can’t imagine how exhausted she is; she needs to heal.  She had been asleep for quite a while before I thought it safe to come here.  She asked Robin to come to you before she fell asleep, but it was impossible to pull him away from his daughter. So here I am.”

“Thank you.  Thanks for coming.”

And then she stepped closer, almost pressing her face to the bars to speak to him in a harsh whisper.

“You listen to me, Gisborne.  You have to pull yourself together and live.  She’s been talking about you to Robin, asking him to help you, demanding that he see the king for you, every day that you’ve been here.  Now, I don’t say this out of pity for him, you’ll be glad to know.  To tell the truth, I think he deserves it, putting you in here when she needs to know you’re well. She should be worrying about herself and the baby, not you. But . . . don’t you let her down! She’s fighting for you every day.”

The tears rushed to Guy’s eyes and spilled down his cheeks before he could even think of stopping them.  She did still care, and she was going to be alright.  That mattered more than anything else.  He could form no words; Matilda would have to settle for a nod.

She stood back again and reached for her basket.  “To that end, Edith baked this bread for you.  Now, don’t you eat this all at once; save some. Who knows how long you have left to be in here.”

Guy’s eyes widened again at the size of the loaf she produced.  How would it even fit through the bars?

“Please, Matilda.  It’s too much.  Would you . . . would you take some to the cell next to me, and the one across?” he asked, lowering his voice to hide the emotion in it.

She looked at him suspiciously, but nodded.  He broke off a few small pieces, and she rejected those until he broke them into smaller ones.

“Alright, now that’s enough.  This is to celebrate, not to martyr yourself.”

Guy smiled at the irony. No, there was no chance of that.

“Hey, what are we celebrating?” one of the men in the next cell called to him. “Is this because that woman you’re no longer married to had a child that isn’t yours.”

“No,” Guy replied, his voice still shaky.  “It’s because she survived it.  Things could be a lot worse.”


	47. The Royal Seal

Marian never would have believed that she could sleep so much and yet continue to feel so weak and overwhelmed.  Nothing Matilda had told her about childbirth had prepared her for the actual experience.  She had been in labor for six hours before her daughter was finally born, but it felt like days.  When she told Matilda after waking up from her first sleep after the delivery that she felt more dead than alive, the midwife’s response had been simple. “That’s perfectly normal, dear.  Now, sit up: time to feed her again.”

She found breastfeeding an almost laughably daunting task; how could something that was supposed to be so natural be so difficult? The first time she had made so many mistakes, had needed to start over so many times that when Morganna finally stopped suckling, satisfied, Marian was crying as hard as the baby ever had, even with Matilda soothing and encouraging her the entire time.  “Don’t worry; it just takes practice.” And indeed, within a few days, she felt as though she had been nursing a baby all her life.  It was the only time she felt completely at peace: just her alone in the world with her daughter.  If only it could always be that way, but there were other frustrations.  She had only seen Robin once since Morganna was born, and she had ordered him out in a torrent of angry tears. Matilda had tried to convince her—and, no doubt, him—that it was just the strain she had been under, but she knew it was more than that.

As Matilda was combing out her hair after she had been to see Guy in the dungeon, she found herself breaking down.  No one besides herself had combed her hair since his departure, and the sensation had been too painfully familiar.  Everything she had been feeling about her new husband burst forth then.

“I’m just so angry with him, Matilda! And now there’s nothing I can do about it.  I’m too tired to confront him, to urge him to go and see the king, and he knows it.  He’d like for me to just forget about Guy and just . . . be this for the rest of my life. To just turn out a baby every year.” Even as she said it, she knew it was unfair, and half expected the midwife to tell her so.  But she just kept up the gentle rhythm of her combing, remaining silent.

“And it’s true that I’m too tired to argue with him,” Marian continued, “but it’s also true that I’m too tired to be patient, to give him gentle reminders that Guy is already ill and could die if he takes too long. If he comes in here, I can’t promise that I won’t just . . . lunge at him and box his ears! So . . . please.  Please keep him out of here.” Then she stopped, biting her lip timidly.  She knew that Robin had taken care of the baby almost every moment that she was out of her sight.  With Matilda’s help, he had learned to change her, clean her, comfort her.  He did everything except feed her, she supposed.  She was being cruel and ungrateful. Her eyes started to well up again.

Matilda stopped combing, and Marian braced herself for a rebuke.  Instead, the midwife leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“There now, love. Don’t you worry.  I won’t let anyone in to see you until you’re ready.  You’ve done so well, and I’m so proud of you.  You deserve any peace you can get.  If Robin cares for you as much as he says he does, and I believe him, he’ll wait until you’re ready.”

Marian could make no reply to that; her teas were falling too heavily.  Matilda smiled down at her, squeezed her shoulder, and left her alone to sleep again.

After a week of living separated from her husband within the same house, a drastic change came in the form of a letter.  Ruth had taken it from the messenger and, from force of habit in Robin’s absence, brought it upstairs to the bedroom.  Marian got out of bed to receive it.  It bore the king’s seal, and as soon as she recognized it she tore the envelope open with bated breath.  It was indeed the expected summons for Robin to attend a meeting of nobles; the king had returned to London!

Marian rushed for the door, hoping that Ruth had not gotten too far away.  Seeing her at the bottom of the stairs, she called out, not bothering to ask the girl to come back.

“Please send Luke to Knighton; tell him to bring Allan a Dale here as soon as he can.  And send Robin up to see me when he returns.”

* * *

Robin seemed more nervous than she could recall ever seeing him when he entered the bedroom.  “Why does he think I asked him here?” she wondered.  Rather than asking, though, she lost no time in handing him the letter.

“I think you should leave with no delay,” she urged as he read.

Robin looked up at her, his features drawn. 

“This letter says the meeting is on the twelfth, Marian.  Today is only the eighth; it’s only two days’ ride to London, why rush?”

She sighed with exasperation.  “He’s not summoning you to talk about . . . matters in Nottingham, Robin.  If you arrive on the same day as the other lords, your concerns . . . our concerns will be swept aside in favor of others.  I . . . don’t want that to happen.”

He gave her a bitter smirk.  “You don’t mean for me to go London without getting a pardon for Gisborne, do you?”

She put her hands on her hips, staring back at him coldly.  “No, I don’t.”

Robin’s eyes moved back to the letter, reading through it again.  When he turned his attention back to her, his face had softened.

“It’s just that I don’t want to leave you and the baby, Marian,” he said, almost sheepishly.

Marian realized for a moment how he must have felt to be banished from her room—his room, in fact—since Morganna’s birth.  How much more it must hurt to be rejected by her now when they were so close having everything they had dreamed of.  And yet her anger was unappeased.

“But it’s for the king, Robin.  I’m sure you’ll be able to tear yourself away,” she said dully.

The hurt in his eyes was so apparent that she wanted to reach for him, to apologize, but she felt as though her feet were nailed to the floor.  Then she heard a voice coming from the doorway.

“Oi, is this a bad time? I came back with Luke but I could, you know, wait downstairs until you’re finished.”

“What’s Allan doing here?” Robin asked sharply as he turned to face him.  It was almost more an accusation than a question.

Marian took a deep breath.  She knew the two men had not seen each other since Guy’s arrest, and there were bad feelings on both sides.  It perhaps was not a good idea to force a confrontation between them, but for her plan to work, it would have to happen sooner or later.

“Robin,” she said, “I want you to take him with you to London.”

“What?” he gasped.  “Don’t be ridiculous Marian.  I don’t need him to watch over me; I’ve known the king a lot longer than he has.”

“Are we going to see the king to get Guy’s pardon?” Allan asked, his tone more urgent.  It pleased Marian to see how quick he was to say “we.” At least someone besides herself already liked this idea.  “I’m definitely going with him.”

“Definitely?” Robin snapped.  “Don’t forget that _I_ haven’t asked you yet. I don’t want him with me, Marian.”

Marian frowned.  Perhaps it would be better to discuss the idea with them separately.

“Allan, why don’t you wait downstairs for a few minutes? Let me talk to Robin alone, and I’ll send for you when we’re finished.”

* * *

With Allan out of the room, Marian turned to face her husband again.  The anger had left his face, to be replaced by a kind of anguish she had never seen there before.  She started to speak, but he lifted a hand to silence her.

“I know that . . . you don’t trust me Marian. I know you’re angry because I arrested Gisborne and I . . . begin to see why.  If the king were going to order his execution, he should have done it right away, not left him in the dungeon to die.  And I do want to get him out, I . . .” He trailed off, looking at her uncertainly.

She took a step towards him, her heart pounding with anxiety. If Robin was ready to talk honestly about Guy, then talk they would.  “I’m glad you understand that, but . . . Robin, I don’t wish to be . . . too hard on you.  But I know this isn’t just about the king.  I think that you . . . you wanted him dead because of what he and I did together while you were gone.  You thought that would be the solution to the problem, but . . . Robin? It’s not.”

He looked away from her, raising his hand to rub the back of his neck.  When he turned back, he still had the same inscrutable expression on his face.

“I just want us to be happy, Marian,” he said softly, almost pleading.  “I want us to love each other and raise our family . . . just as we’d planned.”

She moved closer to him, reaching for his hand.  “I know you do, my love.  And I know . . . what a good father you are.  You’ve done so much . . . I don’t know what I would do without you.”

He stared at her, knitting his brows in surprise.  “Well, then . . . why have you shunned me the way you have?”

Marian sighed.  She had hoped that question would not come up, but now that it had, she didn’t know how to respond other than telling the truth.

“I always knew you’d be a good father, Robin.  You have a . . . natural gift with children. And I would never choose to raise a child with Guy over you; I hope you believe that at least.”

Robin scowled at the mention of that name, but said nothing.

“But . . . that’s not enough for us to move on as we were before, Robin.  It’s good that you take such wonderful care of our child, but . . . that’s easy.  It comes naturally to you.  Interceding on Guy’s behalf to the king, when your information is what put him in the dungeon in the first place . . . that will be very hard.  But that will show me that you really are the man I always thought you were.”

He looked at her hard for a moment, but she thought his expression showed not so much anger as concentration; he was trying to discern her meaning.

“Is that why you want me to take Allan? To help me intercede?”

“Well,” she said thoughtfully, “he did save Guy’s life before, telling the king about how he helped him get the letter.  But truly, I’m asking for his sake.  I think it will do him some good.”

Robin raised his eyebrows.  “Really?”

“He can’t even go to see him, Robin! He had no word of him until Matilda went to see him after she left me, and if she told him the same thing she told me . . . that can’t have been any comfort to him.  Do you remember when I asked you to take the dark bay mare to Knighton.”

He nodded.  “I though you said it was to make room for my new horse, when I found one.”

“And why do you think I didn’t offer her to you, Robin?  She’s Guy’s horse.  Allan doesn’t need her; he brought her here before Guy was arrested because he wanted to keep her safe in case . . . anyone assumed he wasn’t coming back.  But I thought if he could take care of Guy’s horse, he could feel like he was doing something for him.  Now . . . there’s something else he can do.  Please, Robin,”

He squeezed her hand, giving her a smile, but his face quickly turned somber.  “Alright, Marian.  But I can’t make any promises.  It will probably be banishment for Gisborne.  I just hope Allan is prepared for that.

* * *

When Allan arrived at the doorway the second time, his face had been transformed by relief.

“Robin told you, then?” Marian guessed with a smile.  She was lying on the bed again, exhausted from standing so long during her conversation with Robin.

Allan sat down on the bed beside her feet.  “Thank you so much, Marian.  He never would have asked me if it weren’t for you.”

“Did he tell you that the king will probably banish him?” she asked, concerned.

He shrugged in reply.  “Yeah, but he doesn’t know that.  He may know the king better than I do, but I think he’s still capable of surprising him.  But even if he is banished, at least he’ll be out of that cell!”

Marian nodded.  “But, what will you do? If he is banished?”

“Well . . . wherever Guy goes, I go too . . . if he’ll have me.”

She smiled, stretching out her leg to give him an affectionate tap with her foot.  “He’s very lucky to have you.”

He returned her smile, but more sadly.  “No, he’s lucky to have you.  I . . . Marian, I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

“You couldn’t know, Allan,” she said softly.  “I didn’t know what I would do, not back then.” She heaved a deep sigh; there would be time to think about the short time she and Guy and Allan had had together when they were all safe once more. “Listen, Allan.  I want you to be kind to Robin on this trip.  He’s . . . he’s trying to be better, to fix what he’s done.”

Allan looked at her out of the corner of his eye, the smile dropping from his face. “You know, there’s someone else I can think of who who tried to be better. And that didn’t mean anything to Robin when he got back.”

“I know, Allan, but, consider,” she entreated.  “You won’t help Guy by holding a grudge against Robin.”

He shrugged and looked away, relenting.  But when she saw his face again he was smirking.

“What will you do if the king doesn’t banish Guy, eh? Will you just carry on with both of them?”

She lay back again, looking up at the ceiling.  “Oh, I think that could be quite cozy.  You know how cold Robin gets in the winter.  Guy’s big enough to keep us both warm.”

She lifted her head to see Allan snickering at her. “It might be difficult, that.  It . . . wouldn’t be like you and I.  I may have been a bit angry with you at times, but I always liked you and wished you well.  That’s . . . not really the case with Guy and Robin.”

At that, Marian found herself laughing for the first time in weeks.

“No, it’s not! But, Allan, listen. Let’s worry about what to do with him once we’ve gotten him out, alright?”


	48. An Audience with the King

Allan found himself wishing with every hour that passed that he could have made the trip to London alone again.  He understood why it made sense to travel with Robin; that way, he would not have to go the trouble of finding him or be worried that he would meet with the king before he arrived. But that didn’t make the trip any more pleasant.

Robin had wanted to get a new horse for himself before the trip, but Marian insisted there was no need with Guy’s light bay gelding available.  As his legs were longer than Goat’s, Allan had an excuse for filing in behind Robin and not engaging him in conversation.  But the silence was uncomfortable and full of tension. Allan found himself fuming. Even with Marian’s urging, they had not left until a day after the king’s letter arrived, which meant they would only have one day before the scheduled meeting of the nobles to talk to him about releasing Guy.  It seemed to Allan that Robin was delaying on purpose.  Had he not put off asking the king to release him until after his wedding? And that had gone disastrously.  But he tried to keep in mind what Marian had said about not holding a grudge, and kept his mouth shut. Still, he had so many questions about the future that only Robin could answer.

For his part, Robin seemed happy to keep silent too.  He only spoke to Allan to ask questions about directions; it had been a long time since he had travelled to London.  When they had settled into their beds at the inn that night, however, Allan could no longer contain his curiosity.

“So, if the king does banish Guy, as you expect, you know I’m going to go with him, right? What will happen to Knighton then? Will it go to Marian?”

Robin thought about that for a moment, looking up at the ceiling. “Well, she can’t inherit because she’s a woman,” he said.  “So . . . I suppose Knighton would come to me; I’m the closest thing Sir Edward has to a legitimate heir, after all.  I married his daughter.”

Allan frowned. “That doesn’t seem fair.  It was her home long before you came along.”

Robin glanced at him inquisitively.  “Well it’s fairer than the way in which it came to you!”

He knew that Robin probably didn’t mean to insult him; he probably hadn’t even thought about what he was saying.  But something about his words caused his fraying nerves to snap.

“I never asked for it, Robin! I never asked to be Master at Arms, or a knight, or anything!” he hissed, sitting up and turning towards his companion. He took a breath, calming himself, and continued more softly, lying on his back again.  “All I want is for Guy to be safe: and that’s entirely dependent on you and the king.  You can see why I’m nervous!”

“Calm down,” he heard Robin say.  “I didn’t mean . . . maybe I shouldn’t have said it like that. The king has given you Knighton, and I won’t speak against him.”

Allan smirked up at the ceiling.  “Oh, I see.  It’s fine when the king gives me a manor for services rendered, but not when the sheriff does?”

He didn’t have to look at Robin to know that he was rolling his eyes.  He expected an exasperated order: “Go to sleep, Allan,” or something like that.  Instead, he asked. “You’d give up your own manor, and the king’s favor, for Gisborne? I thought you wanted money and security, Allan.  I thought that was why you betrayed the gang.”

Allan sighed. “Maybe it was; that was so long ago, I can’t remember. But, Guy is . . . you don’t want to hear this.”

“No, go on. Really.”

Allan considered his words carefully.  “He . . . needs me, Robin.  He’s sick.  If he has to leave the country, alone, as soon as he gets out, he won’t survive.  I don’t want to leave Nottingham, but . . . I couldn’t live with myself if anything else bad happened to him and I could have stopped it, or made it easier.”

He waited for Robin to reply.  “I see,” he said simply, and Allan rolled onto his side, thinking the conversation over.

“At least you’re not in love with him,” Robin added.

Allan groaned with exasperation. He would probably never able to explain to Robin how he felt about Guy, but he felt especially ill-prepared for it now, after a day of travelling with him in silence.  And yet he found it impossible to either lie to him or let the matter drop.

“That’s the thing.  I am.  Goodnight, Robin.”

* * *

Allan was even more anxious before this meeting with the king than he had been the first time he saw him.  Not that it was surprising.  The first time, he had information that would benefit both him and Robin, making it easier for them to achieve their goal of taking the castle with only a minimal loss of life.  Now, he was trying to convince them to do something King Richard probably did not care about at all.  Releasing Guy had no benefit for him, and Robin had little enough to gain from it.

Robin had sent word to the king’s advisors as soon as they arrived at their London inn, and it surprised Allan little when the messenger returned a few hours later, notifying them that the meeting would take place the next afternoon. Allan found himself sleeping a little better that night; at least Robin had chosen not to engage him in more conversation than was necessary.

Allan got fewer strange looks than he expected approaching the king’s chambers the next day.  He wasn’t certain whether Robin had mentioned in the letter he sent that he had brought him, or how well he would be received. But the nobles they encountered, as well as the king’s advisors, simply ignored him completely, directing their attention to Robin alone. That was fine as far as Allan was concerned; he preferred anonymity. He may have appreciated the idea of money and land, but the formalities of court were things he could well do without.

When they were finally allowed to approach the king, Allan could see a change in him immediately.  At Nottingham, he had been so intensely focused on the prospect of taking the castle, and then delighted by the news of the tunnel.  Now, he seemed bored, as though being on his throne surrounded by his nobles and his wealth was the last place he wanted to be.  Robin had described him as being martially-minded, and now he would see how true it really was.

At first, he wasn’t, certain the king recognized him; he paused for a moment after he greeted Robin.

“Ah, Sir Allan.  It’s good to see you also,” he said with an expression that left Allan wondering how glad he really was.  “I’m just paranoid,” he thought to himself as he returned the greeting.  “I just need to let Robin do all of the talking while I smile and bow.” He hoped it would be that simple, as much as he doubted it.

“I am surprised to see you so early, Robin.  What was it that you wanted to ask me?”

Allan was glad the king had chosen to dispense with small talk.  He never seemed like the kind of man who would enjoy it, really.  But then he looked at Robin for the first time since entering the king’s presence and was surprised by what he saw.  His companion looked . . . nervous.  More anxious than he had ever seen him, and he shocked himself by sharing the feeling.  Perhaps that was why Robin had been so silent from the start of their trip; he had not just been taking his cues from Allan, he never had.  Perhaps he was thinking about how to answer this particular question, and it was clear that he had not come to a conclusion that satisfied him.

“Your Majesty, I . . . I’ve come to ask . . . humbly . . . that you pardon Guy of Gisborne.”

The king cocked an eyebrow. “You surprise me, Robin.  I would have thought you had more important things to worry about.”

Robin sighed.  “I would not bother your majesty about this under normal circumstances, but it was my understanding that you did not intend for Gisborne to die. He has been in the dungeon for a month now, and he’s fallen ill.  It will be a death sentence if he isn’t released soon.”

The king shifted on his throne, stretching into a more comfortable position. “I suspended his execution, Robin.  That’s not the same as a pardon.  It does not concern me if he dies; I’ve spared him from doing so in public.”

Allan’s heart sank, and he felt his blood quicken with panic.  Would Robin be willing to let it go at that? Should he say something? But what could he say that would not result in being imprisoned himself?

Then the king continued.  “How do you know he’s fallen ill, Robin?”

“Because . . . I’ve seen him, Your Majesty.”

Allan glanced at him again, and he looked even more uncertain.  For a few moments, Robin and the king merely stared at each other in silence.  It made Allan uneasy, as though he were witnessing an intimate exchange that was really none of his business.

“You . . . visited Gisborne? Why? I thought he was your enemy.  Robin, he tried to kill you! Not to mention your king.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Robin answered.  “But . . . my wife was very concerned about him.”

Allan thought he saw a smile flit across the king’s face and disappear.  “Your wife?”

“Yes, you’ll remember that she was married to him.  They were married a year before I returned to the Holy Land.”

The king nodded.  “Yes.  I also remember that you told me how much she despised Gisborne.  I would think she would not want him out any more than you do.”

Robin sighed, and Allan felt himself almost shaking with anticipation, hanging on his every movement. “Well, she . . . he was the person who cared for her while I was in the Holy Land.  I told you that she discovered she was carrying our child after I left, but . . . I didn’t tell you that she invited him to come and live with her.  To help her avoid the Sheriff’s wrath.  Marian believes that . . . that without Guy’s help she would not have survived.”

It was the truth; Allan could hardly believe it.  He didn’t expect Robin to lie to the king, of course, but he was certain that Robin find a way to emphasize certain details, and minimize others, to make himself look more heroic in this situation than he actually was.  And yet he wasn’t.

The king smiled outright this time.  “And did she neglect to tell you this when you arrived home? Did she bring it up only when her hus . . . I mean her former husband was arrested?”

Robin hung his head for a moment before meeting the king’s gaze again.  “No, she . . . she did tell me.  One the day I returned, in fact. But I didn’t believe her at first I . . . I was jealous.”

Allan couldn’t believe his ears.  He ventured look at the king to see if he had heard Robin’s confession in the same way, and saw confusion etched in his features as well.

“But you believe her now?” he asked.

Robin nodded.  “I spoke to others at Locksley: peasants, servants.  They told me that Gisborne has changed, just as Marian did.  And Allan,” he added, turning to look at him.

Allan felt his nerves tighten into a ball in his stomach again. He had enjoyed being invisible, and wasn’t sure how he could manage being under the king’s scrutiny.

“What are you doing here, Sir Allan? I am not displeased to see you, but what is there in this matter to bring you from Knighton?”

“I . . . well,” he stammered.  “I . . . Marian wanted me to come.”

The king smiled broadly.  “This is a very powerful woman you married, Robin. Able to bend men to her will! But why did you agree, Sir Allan?”

Allan thought back to the last time he had seen the king; it was just after Guy was arrested, and Robin had brought about a meeting between them so that he could explain to the king how Guy had helped him get the letter that had allowed Robin to depart in time to save him.  He already knew that Allan wanted Guy’s life to be spared, so what was he asking for now?

“I wanted to come, Your Majesty.  I thought I might be some help, that there might be something Robin didn’t know, or might forget to mention.” He stopped himself, worried again that he might appear disloyal.

“You wanted to make sure he did the right thing,” the king concluded.  “Do you not trust Robin?”

Allan ventured a quick glance at his companion and was relieved to see that Robin was not looking at him.  In fact, he was looking away, as though embarrassed by the prospect of being discussed by the king with a former subordinate while he was still present.  He felt a pang of sympathy for him.

“Of course I trust Robin, Your Majesty.  But . . . Sir Guy and I have become close in the past year and . . . he’s my friend.”

The king looked at him for a long time without speaking.  His expression was unreadable, but Allan thought he saw a corner of his mouth quirk.

“I see,” he said softly, and then a few more seconds passed.  The king’s face suddenly became more dour.  “I would advise you, Allan, to not put too much value on these feelings.  One does not do well to love men too much.  It rarely ends happily.”

Allan was still puzzling over what that might mean when he heard the king order one of his guards to summon the scribe.  Then he turned his attention to Robin once again.

“Look at me, Robin,” he ordered.  When Robin did so, he went on. “This is what I have decided to do.  I will pardon Gisborne, but on two conditions.”

Robin tilted his head in confusion.  “Two, Your Majesty?” Allan felt perplexed as well; the king was giving Guy options? At the very least, he was offering them to Robin.

“When Gisborne is released from prison, he must leave the country.  I don’t care where he goes, but he cannon remain in England.  Unless, that is, you agree to allow him to return to live at Lockley where you can keep a watchful eye on him.”

Allan couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  Could Guy really remain in Nottingham? When he turned to Robin, though, his hopes fell.  His eyes had narrowed and his lips pressed into a thin, suspicious line.  When he looked at Allan, as if to confirm that he had heard the same thing, his expression grew even sourer.

“But, Your Majesty,” he pleaded.  “Wouldn’t . . . surely Gisborne would be more comfortable at Knighton?”

The king smirked, almost as though he enjoyed Robin’s discomfort.  “I don’t doubt that, but Gisborne’s comfort means little to me.  He tried to kill me; he’s lucky to have any options. Allan has given me no reason to distrust him, and I don’t meant to give him the chance.  He might be easily manipulated by his . . . friend. Gisborne would have a chance to go back to his old ways.  I don’t want that to happen. I want him under the supervision of someone I trust completely if he is to remain here.”

It was evident that Robin was still bewildered, perhaps even more as a result of this explanation.  His brow was creased, and his mouth hung slightly open.  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said dully.  Allan wondered if he had ever received a compliment less gracefully.  He had probably never had one attached to a prospect he found so unpleasant before.  Guy would be banished; Allan was certain of it. But at least he would be free.  And now he knew that the king had offered the second option.  Robin would not be able to deny it, and that, at least, was something.

“Farewell, Robin,” the king said with finality.

“But, Your Majesty, will I not see you at the meeting tomorrow?”

The king waived his hand dismissively.  “I really see no reason why you should you should remain for that, Robin.  It is to be nothing more than lords who have had seven years to forget who their rightful king is swearing loyalty again.  You have never given me reason to doubt you in all the time I’ve known you.  And Allan has sworn loyalty to me but a month ago; I would hope he has not broken faith since then!”

“Then, farewell, Your Majesty,” Robin replied, turning to leave.

Allan had just followed suit when he heard the king call his name.  For a moment, he berated himself, fearful that king was about to comment on his lack of courtesy in not thanking him, or saying goodbye.

Instead, what he said was, “Bear in mind, Sir Allan, that it is only Guy of Gisborne who is banished if that is Robin’s choice, not you.  If I send for you at Knighton, I expect to find you there.”

Allan turned and bowed, trying to calm the worries that gripped his heart.  “Yes, Your Majesty.”


	49. Sherwood Forest

All the way home, Robin found himself wishing that Allan would be as silent as he had when they traveled to London.  That had at least given him time to think, though nothing could have prepared him for this dilemma.

He felt as though the king had betrayed him.  Why didn’t he just order Gisborne banished? It would have punished him while also sparing his life; to Robin, it seemed the perfect solution.  Was the king trying to punish him? He flushed with indignation; what could he possibly have done to deserve this? Perhaps he had done wrong by withholding information about the help Guy had given, but if that were the king’s concern, wouldn’t he have ordered his release sooner? Was he punishing him for being too influenced by his wife? That thought rankled him even more.  He found himself fighting to smother a treasonous thought about what kind of husband the king must be.

Not that he had much chance to dwell on these thoughts.  Allan had been asking him questions at intervals since they woke up that morning. He seemed completely convinced that Robin had already decided to deny Guy the opportunity of moving back to Locksley. “So, what happens if the king sends for me and I’m not at Knighton? What then? Will he send men to find us? Will he have the servants questioned?”

Robin sighed with exasperation.  “Honestly, Allan, he’ll have more important things to do. He wanted to reward you, and he did.  No doubt, if he finds that you’ve given it all up to go off with Gisborne, he’ll deem you ungrateful.  You might fact some consequences if you ever returned to Nottinghamshire, if someone recognized you, and if they sent word to him.  That’s a lot of if’s, Allan.”

That answer seemed to satisfy him, and he went silent.  He had already pestered Robin into promising that he would not force Guy to sail immediately.  It had been Allan’s wish to take Guy to Knighton to recuperate, but Robin had advised against it.  If the king were going to take measures to assure that his instructions were followed, it would be in the first few weeks. Allan hadn’t even suggested the possibility of Guy coming back to Locksley right away, and Robin considered that that was probably the reason Allan assumed he had decided against the idea completely.  It wasn’t true; he didn’t know what he would do yet. But he was certain that he did not want Marian to see Guy right away.  She had to put her own health and Morganna’s before his.  And, if he had gotten worse since Robin had seen him, the sight of his poor condition would upset her. Although Allan had fought against the idea at first, they had finally agreed upon a location where he would at least be safe.

In the silence, Robin returned again to the decision he had to make.  That was the worst part of the affair.  If he left it to Gisborne, he was certain that he would want to remain in Nottinghamshire.  At Locksley.  With Marian.  And Robin could not allow that.  He had to admit now that Gisborne loved her, and probably always had.  And she, apparently, loved him too.  If they were together again, it would only be a matter of time before . . . and he was not ready for that.  But he didn’t feel ready to choose an option that would strip Allan of all he had achieved in the past year either.  He deserved better than that.

“Allan, I have a question for you,” he said suddenly, almost against his will.

Allan urged his horse to trot the few strides it took to be beside Robin’s, watching him out of the corner of his eyes.

“Alright.”

“You love Gisborne, you say.”

“Yes.”

“And . . . he loves Marian.  If he had a choice, he would choose to stay where she is.”

Allan’s eyes narrowed.  “He would choose Locksley over banishment, if that’s what you mean.  Who wouldn’t?”

“No, what I mean is . . . you knew that he loved her.  The whole time?”

His companion’s scowl deepened, but he nodded all the same.  Robin gathered his courage.  At least Allan couldn’t think any less of him than he already did.

“How can you love someone who’s in love with someone else?”

Allan’s eyebrows shot up, and for moment he just stared at Robin.  Then he looked away and pressed his lips into a tight line of concentration.

“Well, by the time I realized it, it was too late to change my mind.  It’s not something I chose to do, Robin.”  
Robin felt his own features twist into a scowl.  It wasn’t a very helpful answer, but at least it was honest.

Then, unexpectedly, Allan continued.  “But I always knew he loved Marian.  I knew it as soon as I went to live at the castle.  The way he talked about her.  The way he gets . . . I mean got so nervous around her.  Even when I realized he felt something for me too, that didn’t change.  That’s why I didn’t want him to go and live with her at first.  I thought it would hurt him to be reminded that she could never love him.  But . . . you see how wrong I was.”

Robin blinked a few times, trying to form words.  He had asked, but that didn’t mean he knew how to respond to the answer.  “I . . . thank you, Allan. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

He was about to urge his horse forward again, signaling the end of the conversation, when Allan spoke again.

“While you’re thinking about that, consider this too.  You won’t just be making this decision for Guy and me; you’re making it for Marian too.”

Robin’s head snapped back in his direction.  “What do you mean?”

Apprehension flitted across Allan’s face, and he heaved a sigh.  “I mean, no matter how far away we go, she still loves him.  Obviously, she wanted to marry you; you didn’t have to trick her into it.  But she won’t be with you only . . . by choice, if we’re not here.”

“What do you mean? She’s already chosen me!”

Allan looked up at the sky, sighing again.  “I know you don’t want to hear this, but . . . she chose you before she really knew Guy.  When she did, she wanted to be with him too. What I mean is, you can’t know she’d choose you over him again if she’s not near him.  And you can never know it wouldn’t work . . . her having both of you, if you don’t try it.”

Robin looked at him in disbelief for a moment; he had no reply to that.  How could he possibly stand to share Marian with anyone, let alone Gisborne? He urged his horse into a trot, leaving Allan behind.

* * *

They did not speak again until they approached Nottingham.

“Listen, Allan. Why don’t you go to Knighton and gather whatever clothes Guy left there and some food.  I’ll take the pardon to the castle and get the jailer to release him, and then we’ll meet you in the forest.”

Allan peered at him suspiciously.  “What? You don’t want me to go with you to the dungeon? I don’t know, Robin.  I think it will be easier for him if I’m there when he’s released.”

“I think he’ll be happy just to be out, Allan” Robin contradicted.  “And he’ll need clean clothes as soon as possible; he didn’t take a trunk with him to the dungeon.”

For a moment, Allan’s face tightened angrily, and Robin regretted his words.  It wasn’t wise to remind Allan that he had arrested Guy, not when he was trying to convince him to stay away from him for even longer.

“Alright,” Allan assented suddenly.  “But I want to go to Knighton first.”

Robin creased his brow.  “Why?”

His companion looked back at him, his eyebrows raised as though the answer were obvious.  “I want to load the cart to drive out; there’s only so much I can carry on a horse.”

Robin nodded, thinking that resolved the issue.

“And I want you to take Goat to get him.”

“What? Why in the world would Gisborne need a goat?”

“No, not a goat.  My Goat,” Allan repeated, patting his horse’s neck. “How were you expecting to bring him to the forest? I doubt he’ll be able to walk.”

Robin scoffed.  “No, I was going to hire a horse in Nottingham.”

Allan shook his head.  “Guy needs a horse that he knows.  He’ll be very weak and in no shape to get used to a new one.  Goat is very calm and . . . he’s easy to climb onto. And it’s not far to the ground if Guy happens to fall.”

Robin looked at him for a moment, feeling a bit chastened.  It hadn’t even occurred to him that such a long stay in the dungeon would impair Gisborne’s ability to ride, but now that it did, it made sense.

“That sounds fine, Allan.”

The two men parted company at Knighton, and Robin rode on.  Without Allan’s company, he felt more relaxed; he had a chance to prepare himself for what he would see.  The last time he had visited, Guy had been filthy and weak, and that had been more than a fortnight ago.  Matilda had taken him some medicine, but of course he wouldn’t have had a chance to bathe or get any exercise.  He would probably look even worse.

These thoughts did little to prepare Robin for reality, though. When he saw Guy, he was sitting on the floor, leaning against the bars of his cell, as though trying to get as close as he could to the strip of sunlight beaming through the small window.  There was more light in the dungeon than Robin had ever seen, but only the prisoners who were sitting as near their bars as Guy were fully visible to him.  He could see at a glance that Guy was the dirtiest, his hair so greasy that it was sticking to his pale face and neck.  His eyes were closed, so Robin took a moment to inspect his face.  The cheekbones stood out starkly and his beard was ragged.  His eyes, while not sunken at least, had deep shadows underneath them, and his filthy clothes hung loosely on his thin frame. He looked like the men Robin had seen in the Holy Land with wounds that were neither able to heal nor sufficient to kill them quickly.  For the first time, it occurred to him how close Guy had come to dying from sheer negligence.  He might not even be out of danger now.

“Gisborne,” he said softly.  “Can you hear me?”

Guy opened one eye, just enough to recognize him.

“Oh.  You again, Hood? What do you want this time?”

Robin chafed under his old name, but reminded himself that Guy’s mind had no doubt suffered the effects of being so long imprisoned too. Suddenly, the prisoner stirred and opened both eyes wide as though startled.

“It’s not Marian, is it? The baby!”

“No, Gisborne.  I . . . the king has pardoned you.  I’ve come to get you out.”

Guy peered up at him suspiciously, but said nothing.  Robin began to sweat.  He looked so weak that he wasn’t certain he could stand by himself, and yet he didn’t know if he could bring himself to try to help him up.  Even in his emaciated state, he was still taller and heavier than Robin.  And even now, he couldn’t help seeing him as dangerous.

“Will you . . . can you stand, Gisborne?”

Guy gripped the bars with both hands and slowly pulled himself to his knees.  Then, with great effort and apparent pain, he struggled to his feet.  Robin felt almost giddy with relief as the jailer approached and opened the door.  As soon as Guy was on the other side, Robin started walking towards the dungeon door.  It wasn’t until he had stopped at it and was holding it open that he noticed how hampered Guy’s progress was.  He took slow, short steps, almost as though he were hobbled, leaning against the bars of the cells he passed for support.  He saw the faces of several other prisoners staring at Guy in horror, but none of them said a word.

“My God,” Robin thought to himself.  “How is he going to be able to get on even that short horse?” How he wished he had let Allan stay with him now.

Once they were outside the dungeon, there was another problem.  It was a clear, bright day, and the difference between the outdoors and the darkness of the dungeon had Guy gasping in pain and covering his eyes, blinded.  Forcing his concerns aside, Robin took him by the shoulder gently and ordered him to walk, stopping him just before he bumped into Goat’s shoulder.

“This is Allan’s horse, Gisborne.  He wanted you to have him for today.”

Guy lowered his hand from his eyes, which were still scrunched tight, to place it on the horse’s withers.  Then he seemed to recognize him.  “Thank God,” Robin heard him mutter.

He spent so long searching for the stirrup that Robin finally reached for it himself and put it in Guy’s hand.  Even with his foot secure, it took him several tries to finally raise his upper body over the saddle and follow with his other leg.  Just as Allan predicted, the young stallion stood still, perfectly placid, through it all. Robin mounted his own horse and had walked him several steps before he turned and realized that Goat was still standing perfectly still behind.  He sighed and raised a hand to rub over his face; it seemed that even Allan’s horse was suspicious of his intentions regarding Guy.

He turned his horse, bringing him alongside Goat and reaching for his bridle.  He found himself suddenly grateful that he had taken Marian up on her offer of Guy’s spare mount; the two animals knew each other and were calm in each other’s company.  It was not until they reached the shade of the forest that Guy could see well enough to reach for the reins and guide the horse himself.

* * *

Several times, Guy was tempted to ask where Robin was taking him, but he was afraid of what the answer might be.  It felt unreal to be outside of his cell, and he couldn’t help a foreboding sense that something worse was waiting for him outside.  While his cell was dark, cold, and miserable, he had at least grown confident that no one would hurt him while he was there.  Now he was out, and entering Sherwood Forest with the man formerly known as Robin Hood.  This had certainly never ended well for him before.

Robin had told him that he was pardoned, but he didn’t say what the conditions were.  Guy was certain there were some; the man who had ordered his arrest clearly took his crimes very seriously, regardless of what he had done to make up for them. If he were banished, why was Robin taking him into the woods? Fear suddenly gripped his heart.  Had he brought him there to kill and bury him, telling Marian that he had been banished, and left England straight away.  It would have been better had he been executed in public.  Then, at least she would know he was dead and could mourn him.  She wouldn’t spend the rest of her life thinking he had chosen to leave without saying goodbye.

He tried to reason away his fear, but to little avail.  Yes, Robin had been kind at the castle, helping him get on the horse, leading him when Guy was blinded by the sun.  But then, he had an audience at the castle, didn’t he? The good and noble Earl of Huntingdon and Lord of Locksley couldn’t appear to be cruel before the people who loved him, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be when they were alone.

His worries were only heightened when he followed Robin into clearing and glimpsed the large oak tree.  He hadn’t gotten a good look at it when he was first in the outlaws’ camp two years before, but he remembered being tied to it and tortured, almost burned, all too well.  And now, Robin didn’t even have his gang to stop him. 

He watched as the other man dismounted from his horse and came to stand next to his.  “Do you need help getting down, or . . .” His voice trailed off as Guy stared down at him, almost as though he were nervous.  That was an expression Guy never thought he’d see on the face of the brash and charismatic Robin Hood, but at least it meant he probably wasn’t going to kill him.

“No, thank you.  I think I can just manage it,” Guy replied as he removed his right foot from the stirrup.  He brought his leg over the horse’s rump easily enough, but when he handed on the ground his legs nearly buckled under his own weight. Wincing almost as much from embarrassment as the actual pain, he draped Goat’s reins over the pommel of his saddle and walked slowly to the oak tree.  He turned and sat down heavily, pressing his back against it, and waited to find out what Robin was going to do with him.

* * *

Robin reached up to rub his neck, cursing himself inwardly for his nerves.  He had waited for Gisborne to speak, to ask what the king had ordered, or where he was taking him, or something, but the only sound he had heard were Goat’s hoof beats behind him.  And he couldn’t think of what to say himself. There was nothing that wouldn’t make the guilt and shame he felt apparent, and he wasn’t ready to show Guy that.  He was hardly ready to admit it to himself, but he didn’t know what else it could be.  He had never been much of a caretaker until Morganna was born, but that was so different. Taking care of such a small, helpless person had filled him with wonder; she needed him so much. It had proven almost impossible for him to drag himself away. There was something terrifying about taking care of a helpless adult, however.  Especially a former enemy.

 This was not the kind of violence to which he was accustomed. In the Holy Land, when he wounded someone, they either died or were cared for by someone else.  They were not his responsibility.  Gisborne was now.  And if he chose the king’s second option, he would be his responsibility for the rest of his life.  It was a daunting thing to think about, and only made the situation more awkward.

“Are you . . . comfortable, Gisborne?” he asked.

Guy only stared at him in response, but as Robin returned his gaze, he noticed that Guy had wrapped his arms around himself and was shivering, in spite of the relative warmth of the early May weather.

“Would you . . . do you want me to build you a fire?” Robin asked, starting to feel a bit helpless himself.

To his relief, Guy gave a tiny nod, followed by a soft “please.”

“Finally,” Robin thought to himself.  “Something I know how to do.”

Within a quarter of an hour, he had gathered branches sufficient for a small fire and sparked a flame. Then the turned to Guy and urged him closer to it.

“I’m going now, but I’ve already sent Allan to gather your things from Knighton.  Some clothes, at least,” he clarified in response to Guy’s raised eyebrows. “And I’ll send Matilda to look in on you on my way home.”

Guy nodded, and Robin expect no further response.  He was on his horse again when he heard Guy say something quietly.

“What’s that?”

The seated man looked away sheepishly.  “Give Marian my good wishes.  Tell her I wish I could see her and the baby but . . .”

Robin waited for the end of the sentence, but it didn’t come.  It was as though Guy wanted to find a reason besides that Robin had forbidden it, but couldn’t.

“I’ll tell her, but . . . you can’t see her until you’re looking better.  I don’t want her upset.”

Guy looked up at him, blinking in the little sunlight that had filtered through the trees. “Until I look better?” he asked.  “I never thought you . . . I never thought you’d let me see her.”

Robin felt an unfamiliar rush of strong emotion; not anger, not really directed at Guy.  At himself.  He had dragged him out here, giving him no idea of where they were going or what would become of him, and all he wanted was for Marian to know he wanted to see her.  And he thought Robin would forbid it, like the cold-hearted, possessive noble he had wanted to believe Guy was.

“I wouldn’t stop you from seeing Marian if she wanted it,” Robin cried, only aware after the words had escaped his mouth how foolishly defensive they sounded.

He looked at Guy, expecting contradiction, but what he saw instead was his jaw tightening and his eyes filling with tears.  He gave a sharp gasp and buried his face in his hands, turning to his side and pulling his knees against his chest as he sobbed.

“Oh God,” Robin thought.  “What have I done?” He knew he should speak some words of comfort to Guy, to apologize for making him think he was so heartless, but he couldn’t form a single sentence.  He took off at a trot, then urged his horse into a canter to get out of the forest as quickly as he could.


	50. Recovery

With each passing minute as he waited for Allan, Guy grew more nervous. With Robin gone and the fire warming his cold hands and arms, he felt more comfortable physically than he had since he left Knighton, but for some reason the thought of seeing Allan—or, rather, being seen by him—made his mind race with anxiety.  “Why?” he thought.  All Allan wanted to do was take care of him; he knew he should be grateful for any kindness now.  He was lucky to be seeing his lover again at all.

Not long after Robin left him, he heard the creak of wheels behind him.  Startled, he turned suddenly and saw Allan driving a wagon drawn by a big roan horse from Knighton.  One glance at his face confirmed his worries; the color had drained from it, and his mouth hung open as though he was looking at an apparition.  Guy lowered his eyes, ashamed.  He hadn’t seen his reflection in a month, but it was clear he was in a frightful state.

“It’s . . . so good to see you, Giz,” Allan said softly as he climbed down.  One he was facing Guy, he reached out a hand towards his arm.  Panicking, Guy backed away, not looking at Allan’s face.  He feared the hurt he was certain he would see there.

“Good to see you too.  I . . . I’m sorry I look . . .”

“Guy, please,” Allan said, even more gently.  “I don’t expect you to look like you haven’t spent a month in the dungeon.” Then the stepped towards him again. This time, Guy remained still.

“I’m just glad you’re alive, and I get to be with you again,” he said with a smile. Guy glanced at him, and tried to mirror his expression, but it was more than he could manage.  He was so tired, and now with Allan there, he might final be able to get some sleep.  But other things were even more pressing, and that made him nervous too.

Allan turned his attention back to the wagon and started rummaging through the sacks that had been loaded  onto it, much to Guy’s relief.  “So, what first, Giz?” he asked more brightly, clearly trying to sound more cheerful than he felt. “Do you want to change or eat? I’m sorry it took me so long.  I couldn’t actually find many of your things at Knighton, so I went to Locksley and then to the castle.  I didn’t think your trunk would still be there in your old room, but it was! We should have everything you need.”

“You’ve been to Locksley?” Guy gasped when Allan finished.  He had stopped listening after Allan mentioned that.

“Yeah.  You lived there for seven months, Giz.  I thought one or two of your things might be there!” Allan replied, his smile slightly more believable.

“Did you see Marian? How is the baby?”

Allan handed him a shirt and some smallclothes, followed by a pair of trousers.

“Change into these, Giz, and then I’ll try to answer all your questions.” The he glanced at the fire.  For a moment, Guy was afraid he would expect him to strip off his dirty clothes right there, and he all but shuddered at the thought.  He was barely prepared for Allan to see his face, but the rest of him? He wasn’t sure he would ever be ready for that.

“But . . . here, Allan?”

The younger man frowned with worry.  “No, not if it makes you uncomfortable.” Then he turned and looked into the woods. “There’s a stream if you walk a few paces that way, if you’d like to wash up some before you change.  The water will be a little cold, but do you think you can manage it? I’ll get you a warm blanket to dry off in, and build up the fire.”

Guy managed a tiny smile at that.  “I suppose I had better try.”

* * *

It occurred to Allan that Guy might have trouble removing his clothing, but he was already so embarrassed and shy that he thought offering to help him would probably only make him feel worse.  The sympathy and fury waring within him were almost enough to bring tears to his eyes.  He saw now why Robin hadn’t wanted to be around when he first saw Guy.  He was so weak and miserable, and it was all Robin’s fault.  He would’ve been perfectly content to let him die there if it hadn’t been for Marian. 

Of course, Marian wasn’t here now.  It was up to him to help Guy adjust to freedom, and then? Who knew what would happen? All Robin had told him was that he needed time to think.

Allan unrolled a clean mattress on his old bed and then sought out John’s. It had needed to be the largest of any of them, but as he looked at it he recalled that, while John was the tallest of the gang, he still wasn’t as tall as Guy.  His lover would have to bend his knees to even be able to fit in it.  Oh well, it would do for tonight. And it was probably still more comfortable than the dungeon floor.  Anger flared in Allan’s breast again, and he worked more quickly.  Once the beds were made, he took the plate of leftover meats his cook at Knighton had prepared and poured it into a pan, setting it over the fire to warm.  It was only then that he realized how hungry he was himself; worrying about Guy had taken a toll on his appetite over the past weeks.

He was just starting to get comfortable when the crunch of leaves announced Guy’s return.  Allan turned to look at him, and sighed with disappointment before he could stop himself.  The clean clothes hung on Guy’s thin frame so loosely that he needed to hold on to his waistband to keep his trousers up.  He had succeeded in getting some of the grime off of his face, but a lot of the residue around his hairline remained.  His hair was just as it was when Allan had first seen him, and it was upon realizing that that he saw how much Guy was shivering.  He opened his mouth to speak, but Allan shushed him, getting up quickly and fetching a blanket from the cart to wrap around him. 

Guy tightened the blanket around himself, but as Allan rubbed his back, trying to warm him faster, he felt his back and shoulders tense.

“Is this alright, Guy?” he asked, stopping the movement and withdrawing his hand.

The taller man sighed.  “I just . . . it’s been such a long time since anyone has touched me, Allan.  Only Locksley when he was helping me get on the horse.  I didn’t want anyone to touch me when I was . . . there.  But now . . . just give me time, Allan.”

He nodded, moving away from Guy.  Putting on the thick glove he had packed, he reached for the pan and withdrew it from the fire.

“Hungry?” he asked, holding it towards his companion.

Guy’s eyes seemed to dilate at the sight of all that meat, but he made no attempt to reach for it.  He moved is face closer to it and inhaled deeply before sitting back all of a sudden and coughing.

“I don’t know, Allan,” he said when he recovered.  “It looks wonderful, but . . . the smell.”

Allan leaned down to smell it too, to see if it had spoiled, but could discern nothing amiss.  It smelled the way it always did, but perhaps a month of only bread had heightened Guy’s senses.

“I think Margery may have packed some bread too: that soft kind that you like.  Would you like some?”

Guy gave a little nod and averted his gaze again.

They finished eating in silence, Allan self-conscious about how quickly he was eating while Guy chewed his bread so slowly that Allan worried about the condition of his teeth.  He had so many questions, but refrained from asking them.  He waited for Guy’s questions about Marian and the baby, but none came. He was just starting to look comfortable again, and he didn’t want to ruin that.  But when Guy broke the silence, his words surprised him.

“I see you’ve made two beds, Allan.”

“Yes,” he affirmed, looking at Guy uncertainly out of the corner of his eye.  Did Guy think he was going to sleep with him? That seemed unlikely given his discomfort with being touched.

“Oh.  I . . . I think I’d rather be alone tonight.”

Allan straightened his back and turned to look at him.  He wanted to give Guy the space he needed, but that was going too far.

“Guy, no.  Listen to me.  I know that you . . . need to adjust.  And I won’t force you to do anything, but I’m not leaving you here.  Who knows what kinds of danger could be lurking in the woods, and you’re not exactly in any state to defend yourself! No. You don’t have to talk, but I’m not going anywhere.

Guy sighed deeply, and then his limbs shifted under the blanket as he struggled to his feet.  Allan could hear his breath quickening with the effort.

“Fine.  But I’m going to bed, Allan.”

He nodded and uttered a soft “sleep well,” but Guy made no reply.  He ambled to the mattress and lay down on it without even bothering to get under the covers, just wrapping the blanket more tightly around himself.  By the time Allan got into his own bed several hours later, Guy hadn’t moved or made a sound.  He hoped more than believed it was because he was sleeping soundly. Indeed, he found it hard to sleep himself.  How long would it take for Guy to be well enough to leave Nottinghamshire?  And then, where would they go?

* * *

Over the next two days, they continued to speak little.  The frail man’s appetite improved slightly, as did his appearance. After their first night in the camp, Guy found himself better able to bear the cold temperature of the water and washed the grease and dirt from his hair.  Allan commented on how much better he looked, but immediately regretted it.  Guy hung his head and looked away from him again, sitting down at the fire even further away from Allan than he had been before he washed.  Allan sighed and went back to finishing his own breakfast.  He wanted nothing more than to hold Guy and tell him it didn’t matter how he looked, that getting him healthy again was the only important thing, but how could he make him believe it? How could he avoid making it worse?

On the third day, he was driving to Knighton to return the unloaded cart and get Goat in its place when he met Matilda.  She explained that she had meant to come earlier, but it was such a long way to the camp that she hadn’t had the time.  “You would if you would use a better mode of transportation than your feet,” Allan thought to himself, but he had the good sense not to say it out loud.  Instead, he got down and helped her into the seat next to him, and turned the cart around.

When she was on the ground again, inspecting Guy, she used the same stern tone she always had.

“Well, Gisborne, did you actually follow any of the advice I gave you in the dungeon? I didn’t walk all that way with that heavy basket to be disregarded.”

“I tried, Matilda,” he replied sheepishly, but in better spirits than he had to Allan’s scrutiny. “I took the medicine, and that helped my cough a lot.  And I tried to get up and exercise but . . . there really wasn’t much room.”

“No,” she agreed with a shake of her head.  “Not with your long legs.  But you do look much better than when I last saw you.  I’m glad you have this one here to look after you,” she added, nodding to Allan over her shoulder.

Guy looked up at him with a little smile.  “I am too,” he said.  Allan stepped away to put out the fire, hiding the relieved grin that had spread across his face.  He busied himself with double checking the supplies on the cart that he wanted to return while Matilda completed her examination.

“Allan, come here,” she demanded after a few minutes. He obeyed, averting his gaze as Guy adjusted his clothing back into place.

“Alright, now listen the two of you.  Gisborne, you’ve been through a lot, but you’re strong, and I think you’ll be fine in time.  But you have to work at it, and you have to be careful.”

Allan wanted to watch Guy, to see what impact these words would have on him, but almost immediately she was addressing him.

“The most important thing for you to do is to make sure he’s eating the right things.  Don’t let him eat too much at once! And nothing too rich.  Have your cook at Knighton make a stew with a little bit of meat and lots of vegetables, and let him eat a little bit of that throughout the day.  That’s the first thing.”

He nodded and waited for her to continue.

“The second thing is that he needs to exercise. As much as I hate the very idea of it, I recommend riding.  It does seem to help when someone has been bedridden for a long time, and Gisborne practically has.”

Allan did glance at Guy then, and his lips quirked into a little smile when he saw a flicker of excitement cross his face.  It made sense that Guy, even being so fragile, would thrill at the thought of riding again after his long confinement .

“Better be careful, though,” Matilda cautioned. “If he falls, he’ll break every bone in his body.”

“Thanks for coming to see him,” Allan said to Matilda as he drove her home.  “I know he’s . . . not your favorite person.”

She continued to watch the road, a concerned frown appearing on her face.  “Allan, why do you think you haven’t heard from Robin yet?”

Allan furrowed his brow, startled by the seemingly random question.  “I . . . I honestly have no idea, Matilda. I suppose it’s a hard decision he has to make.”

She continued to face forward.  “Have you ever known him to be indecisive?”

He reflected in silence for a moment before concluding that, no.  That was one failing Robin did not have.

“See, I could be wrong.  I have been wrong about him before.  But I think he’s already decided to try having Gisborne at Locksley, and he just hasn’t found a way to say it yet.” Then she turned to Allan with warm glint in her eye.

“If he comes to live at Locksley, he’ll be like one of the family.  Just like Marian . . . and you.”

He stared at her, too overwhelmed with feeling to speak.  No one had described him as family in such a long time, not since Tom.  And for her to describe _Guy_ in that way!

She faced the road again.  “If I hadn’t learned how to change my mind about people by now, Allan, I don’t think I could have survived this long.”

* * *

 Their first ride in the forest was short, and even so Guy was so sore afterwards that he had trouble moving the next day. But gradually, he regained his strength, and within a fortnight they were riding for miles every day.  Though he was still gaunt, Guy had gained some weight and his clothes were fitting better.  Each day after their rides, he ate a little more, finally able to eat the game he had so loved before his ordeal.

When Guy was a little stronger, Allan spent more time away, partly to keep in touch with Marian and stay abreast of events at Knighton, but also so that Guy could have a chance to regain some independence. He had been alone with his own thoughts for so long, but now Allan hoped he at least had more pleasant things to think about.

It was on one of their rides that Guy brought up the topic of the baby again.

“Well, I only saw her one time, Giz.  And she was fast asleep.”

“But who does she look like, Allan? Does she look like Marian?”

“I dunno, Giz, honestly.  She’s really small and pudgy, like all babies.  If they switched her out for another one, I couldn’t tell.”

Guy stared at him through narrowed eyes for a moment before changing the subject.

“How is Marian, then?”

“She seemed well.  I think Morganna keeps her pretty busy, but then she says Robin helps a lot with her when he’s at home.”

Guy scoffed at that.  “When he’s home? Where is he spending the rest of his time? He doesn’t have to race around rescuing people now; hasn’t the king’s return restored decency and order throughout the land?”

Allan chucked at his sarcasm.  “Well, Robin couldn’t stand not staying busy, I don’t think.  Marian says the king keeps trying to get him to go down to London, but he’s been avoiding it.”

“Really,” Guy said, raising an eyebrow.  “He can’t pull himself away even for the king?”

Allan could only shrug at that.  “Well, Giz, he’s a family man now.  I suppose that has changed his priorities around a bit.”

He had said nothing to Guy about Matilda’s suggestion.  As much as he hoped she was right, he would never forgive himself if he got Guy’s hopes up for nothing.

A good deal of his time was spent in devising paths for himself and Guy to take on their afternoon rides.  There were so many places in the forest that held bad memories for Guy, and he was running out of ways to get around them.  But one in particular stood out to him as worth trying.  Guy didn’t know the full extent of what had happened there anyway.

Allan hadn’t been there since the fateful night, and he took two wrong turns.  After the second one, Guy’s mare began to shake her head with impatience, drawing a chuckle from her master.  The switch in their mounts was something Allan could never have imagined going along with.  The mare had always intimidated him and still did, but Goat would be a better fit for Guy as he recovered.  Less distance to the ground, of course, but Goat would also be less likely to throw him.  There was one advantage that appealed to Allan.

“Hey, look Giz; we’re the same height now!”

Guy shook his head at his silliness, but a moment later his back stiffened suddenly and he looked around, eyes wide in recognition.

Allan cursed inwardly. Apparently it wasn’t as forgettable as he’d hoped.

“I . . . I’ve been here before, haven’t I?” Guy asked. A moment later, they entered the clearing and the mouth of the cave became visible.

Allan felt his own stomach almost flip at the sight of it.  That was where Marian had almost died, where he had almost betrayed the gang . . . for the first time.  Only Will had stopped him, and now he was never going to see Will again.  He was pulled out of these sad recollections when Guy spoke.

“I was sitting right here, in this very spot, on that mare when it happened.”

Urging his horse closer, Allan turned to look at Guy.  The blood had drained from his face. “What happened, Giz,” he asked gently, a little afraid.

“Hood . . . Locksley, I mean, and his gang.  They were killing everyone, all the guards.  They had never done that before, and I still don’t know why they did then.”

Allan tilted his head in confusion. “Yeah, but he’s killed a lot of guards since then, right? What made that time so scary.”

Guy sighed, but when he spoke again his voice was shaking slightly.

“It was . . . the Sheriff.  Men were falling . . . with arrows in them all around him, and there he was, looking through the underbrush for . . . his tooth!” He gave a bark of bitter laugher.

“I was petrified.  I mean, I was afraid that I would be killed, that I would never get to wed Marian, but that wasn’t the worst of it. I . . . I want to get down.”

Allan pulled the mare back to allow Guy room to swing over the saddle, watching him closely.  When he knelt on the ground with a sob, Allan jumped down from the mare’s back and rushed to his side, wrapping an arm around his shaking shoulders. Several minutes passed before Guy was composed enough

“I was so afraid that he would be killed, and then where would I be? He was . . . everything in my life for so long.  I thought I’d be nothing without him.  I only had lands and wealth because of him.  I could only have Marian because of him.  Even though he was . . . so cruel. And now . . . he’s dead, isn’t he?

Allan nodded, then gasped with surprise as Guy turned and pulled him to face him, burying his face in his chest as his tears burst forth again.  Allan just held him and rubbed his back, not knowing what else to do.

He remembered that Robin wanted to leave right away, and he had been in such a rush that Allan barely had time to repack his things, let alone find any information.  But just before they had left the castle, they had run into a group of guards, and Allan insisted on asking.  They told him the former Sheriff of Nottingham and the other Black Knights had already been executed. He had felt nothing but relief, but Guy was . . . grieving?

By the time his crying had ceased, the front of Allan’s shirt was soaked.

“Calm down, Giz.  I’ve got you,” he cooed.  The other man’s weight put so much pressure on him he didn’t know how much longer he could last before he fell over.

Finally, he sat back with a final sniff.  “M’sorry, Allan,” he mumbled.  “I’m so pathetic.  Even after . . . everything, I still need to be told what to do.  Can’t even . . . fend for myself.”

Allan stood and helped him to his feet.  “Listen to me, Giz. You’re not pathetic for needing that. I’ve taken care of myself for most of my life, and I like it better being told what to do, at least sometimes.  Makes everything easier.”

Guy eyed him suspiciously, even as he dried the tears from his face.

“Look, Robin Hood is a natural leader, and you know what a pain in the arse he is!”

Guy gave a little smile at that, and Allan sighed inwardly with relief.  They mounted their horses and turned around the way they had come, putting the clearing behind them.

“You know, Giz,” Allan said, turning halfway around in his saddle to look back at him.  “You just need to make it’s the right person telling you what to do.”

“And who’s that?” Guy scoffed, “You?”

Allan laughed as he turned back around, wanting to hide his nervous expression.  It was certainly not him, but he might Guy’s only option.  He had to go and have a serious talk with her.


	51. The Haircut

Marian saw Allan arrive from the window in the solar, and struggled to remain calm.  She had just given Morganna her morning feeding, and the child was still fidgeting in her arms.  Allan was always a little bewildered by the sight of her.  But if she left her in her crib, she would definitely cry from the loss of attention. She tightened Morgana’s blanked around her and strode down the steps as quickly as she could.

“Allan, is everything alright?” she asked.  “How’s Guy?”

“He’s well,” he answered, eyeing the baby uneasily.

Marian looked down to hide her smile.  To think that a man who had once had so many younger siblings would be nervous around babies.  “Would you like to hold her, Allan? She starting to get a little sleepy, I think.”

He knitted his brows in response. “No thanks, Marian.  I’m alright?”

“Will you have a seat?” she asked, indicating the fireside table.

When they were both in their chairs, they sat for some minutes in silence except for Morgana’s gurgles of contentment.

“Uh, Marian. I’m actually here to see Robin . . . to ask him something.  Do you think he’ll be back soon?” Allan asked finally.

“Oh, I don’t know, Allan.  He left for Bonchurch a little while ago, and he may not be back until this evening.  Much usually has a lot of questions.”

Allan grinned.  “Yes, I’ll bet he does.  I remember what it was like when I first moved to Knighton.  Whoever would’ve thought so many of us lowly peasants would have manors, eh?”

Marian smiled.  “Who indeed? But what did you want to ask Robin? I can ask when he gets back if you can’t wait.”

Allan shifted nervously in his seat, and Marian thought she could guess what was on his mind.  The same thing had been troubling her too.

“It’s just that Guy is feeling so much better now.  He’s . . . not back to his full strength yet, but he looks so much healthier.  I think he’s ready to travel . . . if he needs to.  But I’m not sure if . . . well, this is what Matilda told me, and I wanted to know if you think she might be right.”

As he told her about the midwife’s belief that Robin had decided to let Guy come to Locksley, she found herself nodding.  She had discussed it with Robin almost every day of the three weeks since Guy had left the dungeon.  The biggest concern he had was how Guy would react to the baby.

“I haven’t forgotten the child he left in the woods, Marian.  And that was his own son! What would have happened to him if we hadn’t come along when we did?”

“Well, Robin,” she had replied.  “He probably just panicked.  He didn’t know how to take care of a baby.  That won’t be the case here, where there are three of us, and the servants.  And it only happened once!”

“Well excuse me, Marian, but how many times do you think he needs to abandon infants in the woods for it to become a concern?”

She suspected an underlying reason.  What would her relationship with Guy be like now that Robin had returned? Would she want to be intimate with him in the same way as before? Would that even be an option? In truth, she was relieved that Robin never asked.  She wouldn’t have known how to answer him.

“Yes, Allan.  I think so,” she replied.  “I think what you told him about never knowing what I’d decide if I didn’t have options . . . is something he’s thought about a lot.”

Allan nodded with a little smirk.  “I hoped he would.” Then his features turned stoic again.  “How do you feel about Guy moving back with Robin here?”

“I want him to,” she said immediately.  Then she paused.  It wasn’t that she didn’t have reservations, but she wasn’t sure Allan needed to know about them.  What was most important was that he and Robin get along.  She was going to need all the allies she could get if living with the two former enemies was going to work.

“I mean, I know it will take time.  I just hope Guy and Robin will behave themselves because frankly . . .” She trailed off as she glanced down at her infant daughter sleeping in her arms.  “This is the only child I have the energy to deal with.”

Allan laughed aloud at that before looking at the baby himself with a panicked expression, as though fearful of waking her.

When he realized that Morganna was asleep, and unlikely to suddenly burst into tears, he went on.  “I’m just worried that Robin will . . . that he’ll be unkind to Guy.  I think he had enough of that from the Sheriff, don’t you?

Marian nodded.  She had been worried about that too, but she knew bringing it up with Robin would only make him defensive.  She would have to address that problem when it presented itself.

“I don’t know, Allan.  I think he’ll try.  They . . . have a lot of bad memories, on both sides. I don’t know if they can ever get over it, but I can promise you this.  I will not let Robin be cruel to Guy.

He raised an eyebrow at her.  “Do you think you can stop him?”

Marian pressed her lips together in determination.  “I think Robin has come too close to having everything he has ever wanted to be petty and vindictive.  He can allow Guy a home where he isn’t under attack, where he isn’t constantly having his past thrown in his face.  After all, there are accusations he can level at Robin too.”

Allan nodded and looked away, leaving Marian anxious for his reply.

“So, what’s the delay?” he asked suddenly, shifting his focus back to Marian.  “Why hasn’t Robin sent for us?”

Marian sighed.  “That’s just it.  I think he’s waiting for the right time.  If he could go and see Guy, and know for himself that he’s improved as much as you say, I think it would help him.  But he won’t just go of his own volition.  He has to feel needed there.”

Allan lifted a hand to cup his chin as he leaned forward, his brows furrowing with concentration.  He glanced up at Marian abruptly.

“You said he’s with Much?”

She nodded.

“And he’s there often?”

“Yes.”

Allan grinned broadly.  “I think I have an idea!”

* * *

“But why do I have to cut Gisborne’s hair?” Much cried, a note of panic in his voice.

“Well, first of all, you don’t have to, Much. I’m sure I can get a barber from Nottingham to come with me for the right price.  But Allan did ask as a personal favor.”

“Well I think that’s awfully bold of him!” Much went on, piqued.

“Come on, Much.  I know he’s done wrong in the past, but look how much good he’s done too.”

“Are you talking about Allan or Gisborne?”

“Well . . . both actually.”

“Gisborne! After all the times he tried to kill you?”

“I was trying to kill him too,” Robin reminded him with a smile.

Much scoffed, as though that point was entirely irrelevant.

“But he was . . . kind to Marian while we were gone.  And he did help us save the king.  And it’s really important to Marian that we do this.”

His friend sighed and gave a helpless shrug.  “Alright then, yes.  It will be a nice change to do something I know how to do again.”

Robin grinned and squeezed his shoulder.  “Don’t worry, Much.  Everyone at Bonchurch will love you once they get to know you.”

In spite of his agreement, Robin noticed the tension in Much’s shoulders as they rode into the forest.  They had made that ride together so many times, but never for such a peculiar reason.  It was hard to wrap his head around the situation.  Guy was living in the forest while he was in Locksley, and now he was bringing his dearest friend to help him with something so . . .  well, trivial.

“Why does he want it now?” Much asked abruptly.

Robin frowned at him in confusion, startled from his reverie.  “Why does who want what?”

“Gisborne.  He’s been at the camp for weeks.  If I were in the dungeon as long as he was, a good wash and a haircut would be the first things I’d want.  After a big meal.  And a nice pudding afterwards.”

Robin paused.  He knew he would have to tell Much eventually, but he had hoped for better timing. “Because I’m going to invite him to come and live at Locksley, and I want him to be presentable when he sees Marian and Morgan.”

Much stopped his horse and swung around in the saddle so abruptly that, for a moment, Robin was afraid he would want to go back to Bonchurch immediately.

“You what?” he cried. “Robin, that’s . . . are you sure?”

He sighed and lifted a hand to rub over his face.  “Much, listen.  The king only gave me two options.  If I had banished Gisborne, Allan said he would go with him.  He made that very clear.  And if he went, he would be breaking the king’s orders, and he could never come back. After all they did for Marian, I . . . I thought she might hold that against me.  So I chose the other option.”

The shock faded from Much’s face, but the concern remained.  “No, she would have forgiven you, Robin.  You know she would.”

Robin smiled at that.  Much was almost as loyal to Marian as to himself; he never regretted not telling him about her infidelity, and he doubted he ever would. “Well, I’d prefer there not be anything for her to forgive.”

Much nodded, even as he sighed again.  “Well, if you’re sure, that’s all that matters.” Then he faced forward.  “Let’s go on, then.  I imagine I have my work cut out for me, and I’d like to be back at Bonchurch before dark.”

* * *

When they arrived at the camp, Guy and Allan were drinking wine by the river. It was Allan who saw them first.

“Oi, Robin!” he called.  “Would you like some of this? I’ll offer you some when you’re finished, Much.  Don’t want to impair your hands.”

“Hello, Allan,” Much replied.  Robin noticed with some concern that he completely ignored Guy.  When Guy turned so that he could see his face, the gasp he heard himself let out almost made him wish he had too.

Apart from his long and unruly hair, Guy looked just as he had the day Robin took him to the dungeon.  He was thinner; his cheekbones stood out starkly as did the collar bone Robin glimpsed above the neck of his tunic.  It was the same one he had worn on that day, and Robin wondered that Allan had been able to clean it. For a moment, all his feelings of animosity, his desire to fight, returned, and it was a struggle to hold them at bay.

“Is that really the same shirt, Gisborne,” he asked evenly, trying to keep the ire out of his voice.  It seemed as good a way to ease into conversation as any, thought he wondered if Gisborne would find it odd that he remembered that day so well.

Guy looked down at his chest, a faint blush coloring his gaunt cheeks. “Allan wanted to burn it along with the rest of my clothes, but I couldn’t.  Marian made it for me.  But Bess at Knighton said she would do what she could with it, and you see how well she did.”

Apparently, that was enough to move Much to action. He climbed down from his horse and approached Guy, circling him nervously to see his hair at all angles.

“Do you think there’s anything you can do?” Guy asked softly.

Much gave a little jump, as though startled that Guy would actually speak to him.  Then he stepped close to him from behind and reached down to comb his fingers through his hair.

“Did you . . . did you cut it a little bit yourself?” he asked.

Guy nodded, remaining still.  “It was so tangled at the nape that I had to cut some of it off with my knife just to be able to wash the rest of it.”

Much nodded sagely.  “Yes, that’s what it looks like.” Robin watched with relief as he leaned down again, this time more confident, combing both hands through Guy’s hair.

“Will you . . . come and sit on the bed . . . Gisborne.  It will let me get a better look at you.”

Robin caught some hesitation in Much’s tone, as though worried about how Guy would react be being called by his surname by a former peasant.  He felt a little anxiety about that himself.

But Guy obeyed all the same, climbing onto his bed and sitting with his legs crossed and his back to Much.

“Robin, will you . . . can you come here, please.”

Robin started to walk forward, then paused, uncertain as to what Much could want form him.  He looked back at Allan.  “Are you coming too?”

Allan shook his head “no” with a smirk.  “There’s no need.  I trust him.”

Robin wasn’t sure which of two men he meant, but he went to sit by Guy, facing Much, as his friend instructed.  Then Much spoke to Guy again in a serious tone.

“I think I can cut these bits you’ve hacked off to make them even, and then cut the rest of it to match, but . . . it’s going to be very, very short . . . Gisborne.”

Guy nodded.  “Yes, that’s what I expected, honestly.  I just really didn’t want to shave my head, so if you can do any better than that, I’ll be in your debt.”

Robin raised his eyebrows at that.  He had hoped Guy would be civil to Much, but such courtesy was beyond his expectations.

Much bit his lip in concentration as he reached for his belt to retrieve his scissors.  “Okay, then let’s get started.”

His friend grew more and more confident before his eyes as he watched him.  Within a few minutes, his scissors were floating through Guy’s hair as swiftly as they ever had through Will’s.  Or his own, for that matter.  He had gotten his hair cut as it was at present by King Richard’s own barber, and had teased Much about what a relief it was to be seen to by a professional.  But the truth was that his friend had always been handy with scissors.

He paused only once: when he was trimming around one of Guy’s ears.  The blades clipped a little too close to the tip and Guy let out a yelp of pain.  Robin braced himself for him to get up suddenly, but he only looked back with an eyebrow cocked as Much apologized profusely.

“Steady there.  You’re almost finished. Don’t worry about it.”

“Why don’t you turn and face me, Gisborne? I’m sure that will make it easier,” Much replied, consoled.

Within a few minutes, he was finished.  Guy’s hair was so short in the back that a visible demarcation could be seen between his clean scalp and the dirt on the back of his neck that a clear demarcation was visible between his clean scalp and the dirt on his neck he hadn’t been able to reach because of how matted his hair was. It was short and neat around the sides and in back, but there was still enough length at the top and in front to partly cover his forehead.

“Reach up and feel it, Gisborne.  See what you think,” Much suggested nervously. 

Guy did as he was told, his eyes widening as he felt how little hair was left.  Robin found himself waiting with bated breath.  He couldn’t imagine how anxious his friend must feel.

“Allan,” Guy called plaintively.

Robin heard his soft footfalls on the spring grass as he approached.

“What do you think?” Guy asked, peering up at him underneath the newly shorn fringe.”

Allan smiled and reached to comb his fingers from Guy’s forehead to his crown. “I think it looks a lot better than I could’ve done, Giz.  And definitely better than shaving your head.”

Guy and Much let out sighs of relief at almost exactly the same time, and Robin and Allan traded grins.

“I suppose I have to take your word for it,” Guy huffed with mock petulance.  “Unless you brought a mirror, Much?”

He shook his head.  “Afraid not. There’s only such much I can fit on my belt, Gisborne.”

“Don’t worry,” Allan reassured him.  “Much always does good work.”

Robin bit his lip in decision.  It wasn’t an easy topic to bring up, but he had to act quickly before the moment had passed.

“You know . . . there are many mirrors at Locksley, Gisborne.”

Guy turned to him with an eyebrow raised.  “Yes, I recall,” he said softly.  “But . . . we’re not at Locksley.”

“No, but . . . why don’t you and Allan come tomorrow?” Robin asked calmly, trying to make the words sound like a suggestion rather than an order.  Gisborne could decline if he wanted to.

Guy was quiet for so long that Robin turned sideways to find him staring at him in open-mouthed shock.  Then his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“What, to visit?”

Robin sighed with exasperation.  Apparently, he was going to have to spell it out explicitly.

“No, Gisborne.  I’m asking you to come and live at Locksley.”

Guy’s eyes widened again, and his mouth fell open.  For a moment, Robin was afraid he was going to start crying again, but fortunately, his eyes remained dry.

“Is . . . is that truly what you want?”

“Yes,” Robin all but snapped. Then he cleared his throat and spoke more evenly.  “You can have your old room downstairs . . . if you want to claim it.”

Guy looked up at Allan, and Robin turned to do the same.  The smaller man nodded, and Robin realized that Guy had been searching for confirmation that he really meant what he said.  The thought rankled him, but he said nothing, instead looking back at Guy for his answer.

“I’ll come.  Of course I’ll come, but . . .” he trailed off.

“What, Gisborne?”

“Can Allan come too?”

Robin creased his forehead.  “What, to live?”

“No . . . I mean, can he . . . can he spend the night with me?”

Robin found himself glancing at Much, who, to his amusement, looked almost bored.

“Allan can spend as many nights as his peasants at Knighton can spare him,” Robin answered with a wink to his friend.

Much scoffed.  “That will be every night if he’s anything like me!”

“Oh, go on, Much,” Allan jibed.  “Once you get used to ordering meals from your own kitchen, you’ll wonder how you ever survived before.”

That drew a smile from him, but he hid it quickly.  “I suppose that’s possible,” he replied dryly.

“Speaking of which,” Robin piped in, trying to extract them from the awkward situation, “isn’t it close to dinner time now?”

Much looked up at the sky, his eyes widening.  “Oh my goodness, you’re right!  We should leave soon.”

As he looked from Allan to Guy and back again, his nerves seemed to return. “Well it was . . . good to see you again, Allan.  I hope we meet again soon.  And . . . Gisborne . . .”

Guy smiled at him.  “Thank you for the haircut, Much.  I feel better already.”

“Except for your ear,” Much murmured apologetically.

Guy smirked up at Allan as he stood up.  “Well, I think that too can be made better.”

Then, much to Robin’s surprise, he reached out his hand, shaking Much’s heartily when he accepted it.

“Maybe we’ll see you at Locksley when you’re there next.”


	52. Back at Locksley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last proper chapter in the fic. The final one will be an epilogue set about five months later and catch us up on how these characters and their relationships have developed within their new poly arrangement (Do two V's make a W?)

“Calm down, Robin, you’re making me nervous,” Marian pleaded from the bed as he paced in front of the window.

He looked down at her and sighed.  “Sorry, my love.” He pulled a chair closer to the window and sat down in it.  She had been feeding Morganna for a while now; he could at least avoid irritating her until she was finished.

Usually, by this time in the morning he would be gone, visiting Much or John, seeing to business in Nottingham, talking to his peasants.  But he and Marian had decided together that it would be best for him to be present when Guy and Allan arrived.  It was a relief to be able to agree with her about things again.

When he told her about the visit with Much, she had seemed more pleased with him than she had been since his return.  Not just because he had invited Guy to Locksley, but because of what he had said about him.

“I could see how scared Much was when he nicked his ear, and I didn’t know what Gisborne would do . . . but he was so calm.  He just said that it was fine and to keep cutting.  And then he was so thankful to him when he was finished.  I never would have believed it.”

Marian’s relief had been evident in her smile.  “I know it’s a new thought for you, my love.  It will take time to get used to not being Guy’s enemy, or seeing him as yours.  I’m glad you took Much to him. Nothing would be more likely to make you see the gentler side of him than that.”

It was true, Robin reflected.  He had no reason to expect Gisborne to trust him yet, but if he could be kind to Much, who had fought against him, surely he could be kind to an innocent baby.  If he wanted to have anything to do with her, that was, which did seem unlikely.

“How do you feel about seeing him again?” he asked abruptly, hoping his anxiety wasn’t obvious in his tone.

Marian sat up and adjusted her dress to cover her breast again.  She struggled for a moment with the baby on her shoulder and Robin stepped forward to take her, but she stopped him with a small wave of her hand.  The she stood up, cradling Morganna in her arms. She went to stand next to him, but when she still didn’t answer, his heartbeat quickened with nerves.

“I mean, I don’t know when was the last I saw you and Gisborne together,” he added.

She cocked her head at that and furrowed her brow in thought.  “You know, I can’t remember exactly either.  But I know that it was before I told Guy that I was in love with you, so . . . it’s been a very long time.”

Robin looked out the window again, not trusting himself to hide the burst of resentment he felt. That had been when Marian only loved him.  A long time ago, to be sure, but he hadn’t forgotten it.

“To be honest,” she went on, still looking out, “I’m mostly worried for you.  I’m . . . excited to see him.  Anxious too, because I don’t know how he’ll look.  You and Allan have told me he’s improved since he was released from the dungeon, and I believe you, but . . . I haven’t seen him since he left for Knighton on the day you arrived.  He was upset, but he was healthy.  And . . . I know that I’m going to want to comfort him.  To touch him.  And I don’t know how you’ll feel about that.”

Robin glanced at her and then looked out again.  “It’s hard, Marian.  I can’t help feeling . . . jealous.”

She looked up at him suddenly, as though surprised he had admitted it so bluntly.  He could hardly believe it either, and braced himself for her reply.

Marian smiled.  “I know.  I know you can’t control how you feel . . . as much as you would like to.  But all I ask of you is that you be kind to him.  I don’t want him to feel like he’s walking on eggshells for the rest of his life.”

Robin’s eyes widened at that.  The rest of his life? Even though Gisborne was a few years older than either of them, that seemed like a very long time.

He didn’t know whether he or Marian saw the two horses and their riders emerge from the woods first, but he was sure about the anxiety he saw reflected back at him in her wide blue eyes.

“Let me take her,” he pleaded, holding his arms out for the baby, an overwhelming wish to protect his daughter overpowering his reason. Marian rolled her eyes, but handed Morganna to him nonetheless.  By the time he had her comfortably positioned in his arms, Marian was gone, and he could hear her quick footsteps on the stairs as she rushed down.

Robin went down more slowly.  Morganna was yawning, just about to drift off to sleep, but the slight jostling of their descent drew little upset whimpers from her. When Robin saw what was happening at the bottom of the stairs, she wasn’t the only one who was uncomfortable.

Guy’s arms were wrapped tightly around Marian as he sobbed against her neck. She was stroking between his shoulder blades, resting her other hand on his lower back.  Between sobs, he could hear her murmuring into his ear.  “There, Guy. You’re alright now.  You’re home now.” Both were completely oblivious to him.

He didn’t know what to do with himself.  Panicked, he looked to Allan, who was still standing by the door.  “Come on, Robin,” he called with a wave of his hand.  “It’s warm out.  Let’s take the baby for some fresh air.”

Robin didn’t think he’d ever hear Allan volunteer to go on an outing with an infant, but he wasn’t going to complain now. He made for the door as quickly as he could.

* * *

All that afternoon and at dinner, Marian had to force herself not to watch Guy constantly.  He had caught her at it a couple of times, and she could see that it embarrassed him.  Perhaps he was thinking of how he had broken down when he first saw her, but the truth was that she had not been much better.  She was so overwhelmed with relief and joy that she had all but collapsed into his arms, thankful that she was permitted to touch him.  She remembered how upset Allan had been at Guy’s initial aloofness, but he had clearly made progress since then.

She found him much changed, but not in the way she had expected.  Somehow, she had imagined him dirtier and more worn down.  Instead, he was clean and well-rested, for all his awkward jumpiness when Robin spoke to him, but his body was narrower and sharper than she remembered.  His shorn hair especially emphasized how much thinner his face had become and gave an ascetic quality to his appearance.  She wondered how he could bear to have so much of his neck exposed; he’d had long hair for as long as she’d known him, and she knew how sensitive his neck was, especially at the nape.  For all the changes in him, he was still beautiful, and that drew her eyes to him as much as her concern.

When she spoke to him, it startled him even more than when Robin did.  Mostly she asked how he felt and what he needed, but when she saw how self-conscious it made him, she switched to more neutral topics.  She asked how he enjoyed riding Goat, and that drew a sigh and glance at the ceiling that reminded her so much of the old Guy that she could barely stop smiling afterwards.  What she had told him while he was crying was true, she thought.  Everything would be alright, in time.  She just wished that she could hold him against her that night and tell him as many times as it took for him to start to believe it.  But then she would have Robin to deal with.  She would have to leave that to Allan.

Almost as soon as dinner was completed, Guy expressed a desire to go to his room.  Luke had collected his belongings from the forest earlier that morning, but he still needed to unpack his trunk.  At dinner, Marian had brought up the topic of getting a larger bed or maybe some new furniture since he was going to be living in that room now, but the panic that crossed Guy’s face had stopped her short.  There would be plenty of time to think about that later, once he was more comfortable with the idea of living there.  Robin looked positively relieved to have him out of his sight, though he had managed to be polite to him from the moment he and Allan had returned from their walk with Morganna.  Marian was almost itching with curiosity about what they had discussed while she was comforting Guy, given how unaccustomed to babies Allan was, but she decided it was best to wait for Robin to bring that topic up.

“I thought that went well,” Robin observed as he tucked Morganna into her bed for the night.

Marian looked at her wistfully.  “Yes.  Though I wish Guy had wanted to hold the baby.  She needs to get used to him.”

Robin pressed his lips into a firm line and quirked an eyebrow, as though he wanted to say that Guy’s reluctance was fine by him and always would be, but he remained quiet. She did catch his attention when she sat up and pulled on her robe, then stepped into her slippers.

“Where are you going?”

She sighed, but looked up at him with determination.  “I’m going to say goodnight to Guy and Allan.”

A wave of suspicion crossed Robin’s face, though he looked away from her in an attempt to hide it.  “I see . . . well, don’t be too long.  You know what she’s like when she’s sound asleep and footsteps wake her up.”

Marian considered reminding him that it was usually his footsteps that awakened Morganna when he came in late from a day at Locksley, but there would be time for that later as well.

* * *

It had taken a while for Guy to wind down enough to actually feel sleepy.  When he excused himself and Allan, it had been more from a sense of feeling overwhelmed and out of place.  He had been too happy to even maintain a semblance of dignity when he saw Marian for the first time, but having a conversation with her while Robin was watching them had proven absolutely nerve-wracking.   He had let Allan do most of the talking for him; after a month in the dungeon and nearly another one in the forest, it took little enough to overwhelm him.

Allan turned his back as Guy hurriedly changed for bed.  He had become much more comfortable being touched, but he was still too self-conscious about his prominent ribs and hipbones to want Allan to see him undressed.  Nonetheless, he was looking forward to sharing a bed with him again, the ones in the forest having been far too narrow for more than one person.

When he reached up to pat Allan’s shoulder, letting him know that he could turn around, the expression on his face must have been particularly needy.  Instead of undressing himself, Allan lay down on his side and patted the bed in front of him.  Taking his cue, Guy lay down with his back to Allan and felt the smaller man wrap an arm around his waist and press a kiss to his neck just behind his ear, producing the usual shudder of pleasure.

 After he had gotten his hair cut and Robin and Much had left, Allan had kissed his injured ear and then down his neck to his shoulder.  It had felt so unexpectedly good that he was hard by the time Allan reached his collar bone, but he had pulled away, shaking with nerves.  “It’s okay,” Allan had insisted in response to Guy’s guilt afterwards.  “There’s no rush; I can wait.” And Guy knew that he would until he was ready, which he felt certain would be soon.  Just not tonight, not when he was still half expecting Robin to barge in and tell them he had changed his mind.

As he relaxed against Allan’s chest, he allowed his mind to wander, and it occurred to him that there was someone he wouldn’t mind having barge in.  He and Marian had had a couple of minutes together when he arrived, but they had both been crying too hard to make the most of them.

Almost as soon as he had dismissed the thought—she had one baby to put to bed, why would she come to see him?—he heard a gentle knock at the door.

“Don’t move, Giz,” Allan said. “I’ll get that.”

He could hardly believe his ears when he heard his lover greet Marian, and jolted up from his positon on the bed so fast that he startled both of them.  Allan looked back and forth between him and Marian only for a moment before he asked, “Would you like to see Guy for a few minutes alone, Marian?”

She looked almost sheepish.  “Well . . . if you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all,” Allan replied with a little smile.  “I was just thinking of going to the kitchens to see if there might be a bite of tart left from dinner.  Giz, would you like anything?”

Guy barely heard the question, and couldn’t bring himself to reply.  But he did hear Allan as he leaned in to whisper to Marian conspiratorially.  “I think we know what he would like.  I’ll be back in a little while.”

With Allan gone, Guy felt suddenly shy; he averted his gaze as he blood rushed to his cheeks.

“I’m sorry I was so quiet at dinner.  I . . .” His mouth fell open in surprise as Marian climbed not only onto the bed but onto his lap, laying her head against his chest.

“You don’t need to apologize for that Guy, or for anything else.  You don’t have to speak at dinner at all for a few nights if you don’t feel up to it; I know how hard this must be for you.  I’m just glad to have you here.”

At first, Guy had no response to this little speech other than to stroke Marian’s back as she had his that morning and press a kiss to the top of her head.  Then he grew a bit bolder.

“I’m sorry I didn’t hold the baby this afternoon.  She’s so beautiful, but so tiny.  I didn’t trust myself. I was afraid I might . . . hurt her.”

When Marian looked up at him, he saw the tears on her cheek and let out a little gasp.  She cleared her throat and reached up to wipe them away.

“Well, as to that, I’ll give you a reprieve for today.  But tomorrow, I will accept no refusal.”

He smiled at that. “You seem adamant.”

“I am,” she agreed.  “Because I won’t always have Robin here to help me.  He’s wonderful with her when he’s here, but you know he’s often away for the whole day.  And I know he can only put the king’s request for him to come to London off for so long.  So I’m going to have to rely on you sometimes when she gets to be too much to handle.”

“Well . . . I’ll try.  I don’t know how much help I’ll be.”

She put a hand on his chest to brace herself as she sat up, looking at him seriously.  “You had better, because you’re going to be here for all of it, you know? You’ll be here when she’s toddling around, trying to pick up knives.  And when she’s bigger and sneaking out to the barn at night to ride our horses.”

“You’re planning for her to take after you, I see,” he observed with a smirk.

She kept on as though he had said nothing, but he saw that her eyes had dampened with tears again and her voice faltered with emotion.  “And you’ll be here when . . . when we’re making plans for her to meet suitors, and you’ll be . . . present at her wedding.  You aren’t here to live on Robin’s charity, Guy.  I want you here; I . . . fought for you to be here.  I want to be with you.  As Morganna is my daughter, you’re going to be part of her family.  This is your home, and it will be for the rest of your life.  So you have to do your part.”

By the time she finished, Guy’s tears were flowing down his cheeks and neck so freely that he found it impossible to even try to respond. For so long, he had believed that no place would ever feel like home to him.  The thought that he could have one, and share it with Marian and Allan, was almost too much joy to bear.

Fortunately, Marian didn’t seem to mind.  She just lay her head back on his chest, holding him and letting him stroke her hair, until Allan returned.  Then she got up, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips before leaving with a final goodnight to Allan.

 


	53. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heartfelt thanks to everyone who encouraged me to write this story and has kept encouraging me throughout. You have yourselves to thank for it finally being finished!
> 
> A year ago when I first became part of this fandom, I never thought I would ever write a long fic, but now I'm so glad and proud that I did!

Robin was even more glad than usual to be back at Locksley that September evening.  After meeting with Nottingham’s new Sheriff to discuss collection plans for the king’s new taxes, he had stopped at Bonchurch and invited Much, once again, to his birthday party.  Marian had sent out the invitations a week in advance, and he had been the only lord who had declined. Finally, though, after no small amount of coaxing, he relented.

“He’s nervous because he thinks the other guests, who have had money and lands for a lot longer, will look down on him,” Robin explained at dinner. “But I told him, ‘Much, you’ve been at every birthday party I’ve had since I was ten years old.  How can I celebrate without you?’ And that won him over.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” Marian said brightly. “Edith is always asking me why he doesn’t come for dinner more often, especially when she makes her special occasion dishes.  She says no one appreciates her as he does . . . I tried not to take that too personally.”

Robin chuckled at that.  He knew that Marian sometimes still went into the kitchens while he was away during the day to make sure things were running smoothly.  Since his return, he had increased the kitchen staff so that Edith’s role could be more supervisory.  He entertained more far more often than Gisborne had, particularly with all the nobles the king sent to him.  But old habits died hard, he supposed, and he was glad to have married a noblewoman who enjoyed the company of her servants, and was enjoyed by them in turn.

“Oh, goodness,” she gasped in sudden realization.  “That means every landowner in the shire will be here.  I hope we’re ready for them.”

At that, Allan cleared his throat.  “Well, not every landowner.  I won’t be here.”

Robin quirked an eyebrow.  It was the first he had heard of this plan, and he saw Allan at dinner more often than not, though he no longer spent every night with Guy as he had during the first month.

Grinning at his confusion, Allan went on.  “I have to give you your birthday present early, Robin.  If I waited until tomorrow, you’d be even more perplexed.  I’m going to London!”

Robin cocked his head and narrowed his eyes.  “That is perplexing.  What kind of present for me is your making a trip to London?”

“Well . . . I’m taking Guy with me. He still needs to pledge loyalty to the king, and he is in residence at the moment.”

Guy nodded with a smirk when Robin turned to him to verify. It clearly was not news to him.

“That’s the best birthday present!” Robin exclaimed.

Guy only sighed at the ceiling in his usual way, but when Robin looked at Marian he saw that she was giving him that look.  That side-eyed, tight-lipped gaze that meant he was edging towards unkindness.  In the five months since Gisborne had moved in, he liked to think he had gotten better at catching that tone himself, but sometimes he still couldn’t resist.

“Not that you aren’t welcome to come, Gisborne,” he added, trying to diffuse the tension. “If you wanted to wait and . . .”

Guy lifted his hand lightly to stop him.  “It’s alright, Locksley.  It would feel a bit awkward for me too.  And there’s always next year. Besides, Allan’s right. If I waited a few days, the king could be gone.  Again.”

Robin shrugged.  There was no arguing with that.  Even when the king was in London, he was always planning to get a province back, or acquire a new one, somewhere else.

He had finally gone to London himself in July, though it was only for a few days.  The king had wanted his advice about the new tax that had just gone into effect; how much more could he demand of the people without inviting unfavorable comparisons with his brother? Robin had been relieved to return home after that.

Part of what had made the trip nerve-wracking had been the thought that Marian was sleeping with Guy in his absence, in both the literal and implied sense of the phrase.  He knew that she would; she had told him as much before he left.  When she made it clear to him that she was still attracted to Guy, he hadn’t been surprised.  That in itself was something of a disappointment.  Having Marian and Gisborne agree to the conditions he proposed had been some relief: they would not have sex in the master bed, or while he was at home, and Marian would always sleep with her husband when he was at Locksley. When he returned from his trip, he found things to be just as Marian had told him they would be.  The world had not come to an end.  She still wanted Robin, and he was still happy with her.  Even Morganna was no worse for wear.

From the morning after Guy’s first night at Locksley, he and the baby had developed a curious fascination with each other.  Even though he had been nervous about holding her at first, she hadn’t cried in his arms, instead staring at him in half-recognition, as though there was something familiar about him that she couldn’t quite place.  They had bonded quite quickly after that, and Robin began to realize that if his daughter could see some goodness in Gisborne, perhaps he could too.

* * *

Marian crept down to Guy’s bedroom early, before Robin or Morganna were awake, on the morning of his departure.  Allan had left his packing to the last minute, and had gone back to Knighton after dinner to finish.  Marian was glad of it. Though she knew Guy hated to sleep alone, she still felt a bit wary at the idea of interrupting him when he was with Allan, and it was important that she get to say goodbye to him away from the watchful eyes of her official husband.  Though, she had to admit, Robin was getting better.

As the door creaked open, she smiled at the recollection of the last time she had come to him like this.  It had been a few weeks ago.

She had climbed into bed with him without preamble, delighting in the way his eyes had widened.

“Marian? What are you doing here?”

She wrapped her arm around him and lay her head on his chest, looking up at him.  “Did you know that it was a year ago today that you and Allan came to live at Locksley?”

From the way he blushed, she could tell that he did, but he would probably never have brought it up.  The thought brought a pang of sadness with it, and she pressed a kiss to the bare skin of his shoulder.

“I’ve decided that this is our anniversary, the one we’ll celebrate every year.  I didn’t want it to be the day we were actually married.”

She felt Guy shift under her as he shook his head.  “No, because of the annulment.”

Marian smiled up at him.  “And I don’t think that was a happy day for either of us.  But this is the day that you compromised the life you had made for yourself to help me when I needed you.  Even though I didn’t see it at the time, looking back now, that’s when you truly became my husband.  That’s what I want to celebrate.”

She rolled over on top of Guy to better appreciate the way the blush on his chest and neck deepened at her words.  As she moved against him, she could feel that they were not the only places his blood had rushed.

“I need to get you a gift, then,” he murmured, his breath hitching when she shifted again.  “Anniversaries mean gifts, right?”

“You don’t need to get me anything, Guy,” she purred.  “But there is something I would like to give you.”

As she recalled the way he had bitten his fist to stifle the whimpers he made when she took him in her mouth, a flush of arousal spread through her.  He was always so responsive when she surprised him. Unfortunately, there would be no time for such games this morning.  Guy would need to get up and be ready to depart when Allan came for him.

But she did lie down behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist and pressing a kiss to the side of his neck.  “Time to wake up, darling.  Allan will be here soon.”

* * *

“I might have known he’d be late on the morning I got up early to be ready for him,” Guy grumbled at breakfast.  He was nervous about the trip.  Not only would it be the first time he had seen the king since he tried to stab him in the Holy Land—an offence that he still couldn’t quite believe Richard had forgiven—but he had to ride Scatterbrain.  The horse, the bay stallion he had bought as a back-up in case his mare ever went lame, had been named thus by Allan for his flighty disposition. After two years, Guy was finally having to make use of him.  He had learned a few months earlier that his beloved dark bay mare was in foal to Goat.  It had happened while he was in the dungeon, and Marian had leant her to Allan, not foreseeing the consequences.  The mare’s belly had grown so much that it was no longer possible to ride her.

When Allan arrived, just in time to finish off the last of the bread and butter, Guy couldn’t resist bringing it up again.

“If it weren’t for your negligence, I would have my own, trustworthy horse to ride.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that stallion, Gisborne,” Robin interjected with a roll of his eyes.  “I didn’t ruin him in the few months I used him before I bought my new one.”

“I don’t blame you,” Guy clarified.  “It’s just that he’s never been to London.  I don’t know what he’ll be like in the crowds.  And my mare is so steady.”

He narrowed his eyes at Allan again.  “I still don’t know how that overgrown dog even managed to get _up_ there!”

Allan finished his ale and wiped his mouth.  “Well, I daresay people wonder that about you and me too, but I always manage it, don’t I?” he quipped.

Robin and Marian snickered, and Guy shook his head.  Allan certainly knew how to end an argument before it began.

“But at least something good is coming from it,” Marian piped in.  “I can’t wait to see what my foal looks like!”

Guy smiled, encouraged by her enthusiasm.  He had promised the foal to her, hoping secretly that it would turn out to be a smallish bay male to replace the one he had given her so long ago, which she had to sell.  At the very least, he felt he could count on smallness given the sire.

Marian returned his smile, then dismissed herself to give Morganna her morning feeding.

As he discussed the meeting with the king with Allan and Robin, Guy began to grow anxious again.  It was the first time he had been away from Marian since his imprisonment and stay in the forest, and things had been going so well.  What if he came back to find things changed?  Just as he was starting to reconsider the whole trip, Marian returned and placed Morganna in his arms.  “Here. Someone wanted to say goodbye to you.

Guy swept the blanket back from the baby’s face and smiled at her, chuckling when his expression was mirrored in her toothless mouth.  “You be a good girl while I’m gone,” he cooed.  “Don’t wake your mother from her afternoon nap with your crying; there won’t be anyone else to pick you up.” When she started yawning, he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her tiny forehead, and handed her back to her mother.  He glanced up, noting that Robin was still in conversation with Allan, before bending again to kiss Marian’s lips.

“Take care of yourself; I love you,” she said softly.  And then more loudly, “don’t let that one take you to any dens of ill-repute!”

Allan gasped at her in mock dismay.  “When have I ever, Marian?”

“Maybe you haven’t,” she concurred, “but I’m sure it was from lack of opportunity, not inclination.” She pulled him into a tight hug and kissed his cheek.

Guy nodded at Robin.  “Thank you for your counsel, Locksley.  I’ll do as you said.”

Robin looked at him uncertainly for a moment, but gave him a tight smile and reached to grip his arm above the elbow, encouragingly.  It was clear they would never be as comfortable with each other as Marian and Allan were, but Guy supposed the fact that they could be civil was remarkable enough.  And surely that would improve in time as well.

He mounted his horse, and with a final wave to the small family, set off behind Allan.  As he caught up to Goat, he gave his lover a smirk.  He knew that Allan had been waiting a long time for this trip, to have him to himself again, and he was determined to enjoy it.

* * *

A few miles into their trip, it became clear that Scatterbrain was too fidgety to walk close enough to Goat for the two riders to have an easy conversation.  Allan avoided commenting on it for as long as he could, not wanting to restart a conversation about the pregnant mare.  He knew that Guy wasn’t half as upset about it as he pretended to be.  “I always meant to breed her,” he had insisted. “I just want to choose the sire for myself.”

Allan had been delighted by the news, and took little pains to hide it.  He had never loved a horse as he did Goat; to his mind, more small, gentle horses in the world could only be a good thing.

“Go ahead and ride on in front of me, Guy.  I’ll let you know if you’re about to make a wrong turn.”

Guy nodded and did as he was told.  As Allan watched him from behind, his mind wandered to the last time he had made this trip.  All the way home, he had thought of how much he wanted to take Guy to London.  Plying their trade as criminals had seemed like their best hope for the future at the time. How glad he was that things hadn’t taken that path.  He hadn’t wanted the land, or the manor that those two powerful men had foisted on him, but he did want to lead a respectable life.  And the combined efforts of Vaisey, King Richard, and Robin had given him that.  Even as that thought crossed his mind, he considered how Guy and Marian would chide him for it.  They would say he owed his success entirely to his own ingenuity and courage.  He wasn’t quite ready to agree, but it was nice to have people in his life who thought so.

When they arrived at the main road that would take them all the way to the London, Guy stopped.  As Allan grew closer and brought Goat up next to him, he could see the look of worry and sorrow on Guy’s face.

“What’s the matter, Giz?” he asked gently.

Guy gave him a sad smile. “I was just thinking of the last time I made this trip.  I was alone and it was for . . . very different reasons.”

Then he looked back to the road, and Allan watched it with him.

“Are you thinking about Vaisey? Is that what’s making you sad?”

His lover made no sign of agreement; he didn’t need to. “I think it will always make me sad to think of him, and the things I did for him.”

Then, unexpectedly, Guy turned to him.  “What about you? When you think about . . . the past?”

Allan nodded.  Guy didn’t have to be specific.  He knew that he was referring to his betraying the gang, and all the years that he had no one to look out for but himself before then.

“Yeah, I do.  But now . . . we have so much to look forward to.  Both of us.  Now, let’s get this meeting with the king behind us and have some fun.”

Guy smiled at him, and urged his horse forward.  For all his sins, Allan thought, Guy would never have made a criminal.  Far too jumpy and anxious.  But what he was doing now, keeping Marian company and helping her manage the manor, leaving Robin more time to occupy himself with matters of community and national importance, seemed to be just what he was made for.  How funny it was that Guy, who had wanted power and wealth so badly, was content with so little, and he, who had only thought of survival, now had so much more.  He grinned to himself as he followed Guy.


End file.
